The Agonizing Redemption
by DeadSoShh666
Summary: Sequel to "The Agonizing Shame." Sam is dealing with the aftermath of months of abuse inflicted by Larry. Dean and John are there to help but, when things go wrong, will it be enough? Hurt!Sam Protective!Pissed!Dean,John
1. Chapter 1

**Alright, so here's a small sequel I cooked up. I recognize it's a bit late in the game for me to post this, but I hope you all can at least recall a general idea of what happened in "The Agonizing Shame." **

**Enjoy!**

John held the door open for his sons, allowing Dean first entrance into the small, inconspicuous diner. The place seemed innocent enough, the customary bright red-and-white checkered décor placed throughout the room with dark wooden walls to encompass it, making the appearance laid back and homely.

Altogether it wasn't too bad, Sam slid into the room behind Dean, eyeing the surrounding patrons and waiters, not suspiciously, but not particularly friendly either. John trailed behind, a calloused hand unwillingly finding its way to the small of Sam's back. He didn't flinch or react to the touch, and the older man almost beamed.

It had been hard, getting Sam used to them again, just the two other men. Sam had spent so long being alone or stressed or in pain that, now he was safe, he didn't seem to understand it. Like the term "safe" no longer equated to anything in his mind. He'd wake up one morning perfectly fine, if not a bit quiet, but the next he was almost readying himself to strip. He'd wake up, groggy, feel the material on his skin, and then grab it with a tight fist, staring at it in fear and incomprehension. As if being clothed had become so unnatural and condemning in his head that he couldn't handle it.

And the scratching. It was like Sam despised his own clothing now, like he was so unused to wearing them that it bordered on physical pain. The comfortable hoodies John always used to see on the kid were gone, replaced by no more than a thin t-shirt.

And John didn't know what to do.

John followed behind the two most important people in his life, trailing as the caboose and keeping Sam in between both him and Dean. He trusted Sam, and he was a damn good fighter when he wanted to be, but, sometimes, damn good wasn't good enough.

Dean went to the corner of the room and climbed into the booth first. Sam wanted as little interaction with people as possible, but he also had a sort of indescribable hatred toward the inner part of the booth, like he felt trapped. Sam never said it verbally, and Dean wasn't entirely a fan of not being the first-defense, but he was willing to allow Sam all the necessary comfort and more.

Besides, John was here, and he'd put himself in danger before he did Sam.

John got into the side opposite his son while Sam sidled in beside Dean, possibly pondering how Dean had been purposely sitting on the inside part of the booth ever since Sam hesitated to enter first a few weeks ago. He shot Dean a small look, mulling it over as he bit at his lip. He looked like he was about to say something, but was interrupted when a half-a-century aged, gum-chewing waitress came over, her lipstick bright red and eyes dark with mascara.

Dean felt like punching her in the face. Sam was about to _say_ something, goddamn it.

"A'ight gentlemen, what c'n I get ya?" she asked, smacking her gum audibly. Her gaze lingered on Sam a might too long, her gaze fixed on his multitude of scars.

And that was something Dean couldn't stand, either. It fucking _enraged _him. Nobody knew how much pain Sam had been in, how much he had _suffered _through. They see the scars and think _car wreck _or _skiing accident _or _fell down the stairs drunk_. They don't think _abused and raped for half a year._

It's not that Dean wanted people to know about the abuse inflicted upon his baby brother, he would never wish that kind of humiliation upon Sammy. But for people to not know how brave and fucking _strong _Sam was tore at his gut in a way he didn't think he would ever be able to describe. They saw his scars as nothing more than a reminder on how he fucked up, not how he survived to tell the tale.

A growl emitted from deep in Dean's throat, and the woman abruptly tore her gaze away, flashing a fake, too-bright smile in their father's direction, her wrinkles crinkling at the edge of her lips. "Whatcha want, sugar?"

John looked none too happy with the woman but, fortunately, he had better luck in hiding it, looking down at the menu. " A simple cheeseburger, side of fries, Coke."

Dean noticed their father's own subtle change in normalcy; in the past he usually ordered an alcoholic beverage with his meals. Now he stuck with solely caffeine or carbonated drinks. Neither Dean nor John knew exactly what Sam had been through or if Larry had hurt him while drunk or sober or both, but if Sam even had the slightest possibility of feeling uneasy, the older Winchesters avoided it at all costs.

And it wasn't just Dean that noticed it. Both the elder Winchesters could tell Sam himself had, too. Sam's eyes flickered again at John. It looked like he wanted to argue, say it was okay, that he had nothing against his father's drinking preferences, but every time he opened his mouth he would shut it tight, turning his gaze away, like maybe it wasn't true.

It drove Dean absolutely in-fucking-sane.

The heavily made-up woman nodded, finishing the order as she popped a bubble and turned to Dean, smacking away. "What 'bout you, hon?"

Dean beat down his growing anger and sent her a wide smile. "I'll have a cowboy burger with extra onions and hickory sandwich, side of French fries, and a Coke." He folded the menu over and handed it to the lady, flashing a false smile. "And strawberry pie to go."

She nodded as she took the menu and wrote down the order, finally diverting her eyes to Sam, who had yet to lift his eyes from the menu.

"What about you, pretty boy? Whadda want?"

Whether the woman tried to make him feel less self-conscious about his scars or just find a way to demean him Dean wasn't sure, but what he _was _damn sure of was the twitch that about sent Sam out of his seat.

Dean gulped. Had Larry called him that before?

Sam scratched at the top of his head with long fingers, looking down directly at his menu and avoiding her gaze. He quietly yelped, barely audible but audible enough, as he realized the hand directly in the waitress's view was one of the most scarred parts of his body—that was visible, at least.

He put the hand under the table, stuttering. "Cajun salad and water, p-please."

The waitress nodded, the scarred hand not going unnoticed. "A'ight," she said as she took his menu. "It'll be out in a moment." She sauntered back to the kitchen, throwing a few glances his way before entering another room, out of sight.

Sam brought the hand back up and covered his eyes. He stayed like that several moments before finally heaving a small sigh, his voice filled with self-contempt. "I'll never get this right."

Dean shook his head. "No, Sammy, you didn't do anything." He snorted, absently watching her obnoxiously chew her pink gum as she served another customer. "She was just being a bitch."

Sam shook his head, holding his arms up on the table. "No, Dean, she wasn't." He deflated. "I just overreacted. Again."

Dean exhaled. Sam was referring to the time a man, a _heavy _man, asked him for directions to the nearest motel. This was back when Sam was still new to the "no more Larry" situation, and, at that time, Sam couldn't have handled it any better than he did.

Dean said just as much, but Sam seemed to be ignoring him, his palms crushed into his eyes and elbows leaned against the table.

The waitress strolled back with their drinks, her gaze once again landing immediately on Sam, a long scar going across his arm catching in the light. She cleared her throat, throwing one more glance before setting the glasses down in front of them.

"Your food will be out shortly."

John nodded curtly, and the woman walked back to where she came.

Sam had yet to move from his position, and Dean poked him in the shoulder, knowing there were no scars there.

And he knew. He knew _exactly_ where each and every one of Sam's scars were located, much to Sam's infinite humiliation when Dean and John had asked to see them. But they had had to know; they _had_ to. What if something had grown wrong after being broken? What if an injury was infected and they actually had to go to the _hospital_?

It had been a close call. The whip marks going along Sam's back were beyond repair and untreatable. But there was this _one_ scar, painfully deep and so fucking long it made Dean cringe every time he caught sight of a piece of it. It went from the wrist down to the length of his arm, traveling from nipple to lower torso to hip to inner thigh to knee to lower calf. How _fucking _demented do you have to be todo that? Dean seethed in uncontrollable anger every time he thought about it, because it wasn't fucking _fair._

Dean poked him again, harder this time. Sam rolled his hands over to his cheeks and looked at Dean with a sidelong look, irked.

Dean sighed. "Don't put yourself down all the time, Sammy. This is going to take a while for you to get over this, for _all of us _to get over this, and you can't get everything right the first time around."

Sam watched him a moment, then turned away to stare at the unoriginal black and white salt and peppershakers.

John watched in concern as Sam seemed to stop interaction altogether, curling discreetly into himself like it was his safe place, the only place no one could hurt him.

John brought a hand out to place it lightly on Sam's, then retracted, putting it hastily back in his lap and taking a gulp of soda. Sam didn't often like to be touched.

"I'm scared," Sam said unexpectedly, his gaze still fixed on the condiments. He looked different, though, eyes slightly wide and mouth a grim line, as if he hadn't been _planning _on saying that at all and, now that he did, he wasn't sure how to back it up, wasn't sure if he wanted to fully admit it.

"Of what?" Dean asked, involuntarily leaning a bit closer.

Sam didn't respond for several long moments, and Dean could tell Sam was trying to think up a lie. "I'm scared you both will suffer for my mistakes."

Dean's eyebrows curved downward, noting the utter honesty in Sam's words. Hell, the kid seemed damn serious about it.

But about what?

This time John was the one that responded, curiosity and puzzlement evident in his voice. "What are you talking about, Sammy?" He shot a thumb behind him, where the waitress had sauntered off to. "This? Sam, this is hardly a mistake. You haven't done anything wrong."

Sam looked down further and kept his long bangs in his eyes, and Dean fought the urge to just tear them back as Sam sighed almost inaudibly. He sounded sad, tortured even, and Dean was at the ready to make him feel as loved and important as he has always deserved.

Sam looked away, distracted, as if listening to another conversation. Then he spoke, "Dad, Dean, I…" Sam swallowed. "I, I don't…I don't think you really want to know." He shook his head. "I…I shouldn't have said that."

Dean took another risk and scooted an inch closer to him, a hand barely fluttering over his baby brother's shoulder. He wanted to _demand _Sam to tell him so bad, throttle it out of him, but that wouldn't help Sam, wouldn't help him get better. "Sammy, if you're struggling with something we need to know."

Sam gulped, shaking his head lightly. "I…I don't…"

Dean turned Sam's head to face him, pleading a small, "Please?"

One word. That one word was all Sam needed. Whatever it was Sam was talking about, it was obvious he didn't want to be. But for Sam, Dean's needs overcame his own every single time. He was so devoted and selfless that Dean couldn't believe it sometimes. Like he was the replica of an angel. An abused, fallen angel.

Sam nodded lightly, seeming to mentally prepare himself before beginning. "It's obvious I haven't fully recovered from...Larry." He struggled with his next words, whether he couldn't determine how to word it or how to _understand _it, Dean wasn't sure. "I'm so scared that, that I'll begin to affect you, too. _Infect _you." He shook his head. "I know, I know, it sounds foolish." He licked his lips, convinced now he would see this conversation to the end. "I'm always in so much _pain _and, and…I feel like I'll just bring both of you down with me." His long, thin fingers ran through his chocolate-colored hair, his mouth a deep, deep grimace. "I can't let that happen," he barely whispered, almost to himself.

Dean's mouth stuttered and his mind searched spastically for a response. Something that accurately showed how he _felt. _

Because damn he was feeling a lot right now.

But before he could open his mouth, the god-_fucking_-damn waitress came beep-bopping along, meandering over to their table and setting plates down in front of the Winchesters.

Dean watched as Sam looked over at the adjacent table where two men were enjoying their meals, but then plastered his gaze to his plate, gulping when he felt the waitress's stare.

"Need anything else?" The woman was looking at Sam, fucking _staring_ at Sam, but by the tone of her voice Dean could tell she was talking to all three of them.

"No," he snapped harshly.

The woman nodded hurriedly, her back straightening a bit as she stumblingly walked away.

Sam's eyes stared intently to the left of John's shoulder, more toward the other customers, and John watched him peculiarly. It was like he wasn't _there_, like he was listening to a more important conversation somewhere else_._

Both John and Dean sat silently, speechlessly, like Sam's melancholy and desperate speech had rendered them incapable of communication. Dean swallowed hard, for once the mouthwatering smell of juicy, grease-filled meat avoiding his scent.

Because his baby brother was _hurting. _Hurting more than he could ever deserve.

Sam looked up then with glassy eyes, looking to both John and Dean. "It's not your fault. I've just got a few kinks in my armor that need to be rid of. I'll deal. I'll fix myself again, and then I'll be brand new."

Dean shook his head. Because _that_ wasn't fair either. Sam was broken, was broken by the most vile kind of monster in the world, so why was it Sam's job to pick up the shattered pieces? He'd been through enough, so why not let someone else put him back together?

John reached his hand out, this time letting the calloused palm rest lightly on Sam's knuckles. "No, Sammy, you're not alone." He smiled. "We'll just have to fix each other."

(0)

They ate in silence, each Winchester lost in their own thoughts, one's sorrowful, one's angry, and one's distracted.

As usual, Sam ate little of his own food, merely twirling it around with a fork and playing with it until it looked like someone ate it. As usual, Dean stressed to Sam that he needed to eat; as usual, Sam declined, saying that he wasn't hungry and— after making sure both Dean and John were finished eating—requested they head home. John gave in, as usual, paying for the meals and getting to his feet, followed by his sons.

It had become a long-going cycle and one that, for the most part, wasn't expected to be broken anytime soon.

However, Sam arose from the booth and, instead of heading toward the exit with their father, as usual, waited patiently for Dean to slide out of the booth.

Dean didn't think too much of it, sliding his butt across the cushion and getting to his feet. Before Dean could urge Sam in front of him, not liking his brother behind him and out of sight, Sam had made his decision, suddenly turning and walking to the table adjacent to their booth.

Dean watched confused and, from the corner of his eye, saw John stop to observe Sammy, as well.

Sam stood in front of two middle-aged men, who both looked as though they had been about to rise from their seats. They sat back down, each man eyeing Sam skeptically and critically.

Sam's eyes seemed full of malice, one of the strongest emotions Dean had seen on his face in months. Silently, he hoped it was just the angle he was at that made it seem so wicked.

"Keep your hands away from him," Sam said, pressing a hand hard onto the table, his gaze switching between the two. "He's not interested."

The men were astonished, but the dark haired man recovered quickly, throwing him a dark, malicious smile. "Says who?"

Sam's eyes tightened and his mouth curved downward in distaste. "Says me. You touch him I'll kill you."

Dean came to stand beside Sam, putting an arm in front of him and discreetly pushing him behind him. He didn't know what was going on, didn't hear the conversation that played out, but these men didn't look particularly delightful and he sure as hell wasn't letting anyone harass his brother if he could help it. It was ironic, though; Sam didn't talk to anyone he didn't know and, now that he was finally branching out, it's with people that looked like fucking serial killers.

Dean's eyes hardened on both men as they looked at him, and Sam stepped around Dean and pushed him away with a hand. Sam's eyes were like two black pits of rage, but his facial expression was eerily calm. "Thanks for the chat, but we'll be going home now. Alone." There was a distinct bite in his words, but the men did not stir, their teeth grinding together with tight fists.

Sam physically turned Dean around and pushed him toward the exit, leading him with a hand on his back. Dean cast the shortest of glances to their father in helpless confusion and John followed behind them protectively. He threw a glance back at the two men, content that both were still sitting, staring indignantly at the leaving men.

They exited and Sam looked up at the once bright daylight, the sky now filled with unceasing darkness that sneered down at him in mockery. Sam looked away, absently scooting a bit closer to Dean.

Once the three Winchesters had successfully left the diner and gathered into the Impala, Dean turned around in the passenger seat to look at his brother, his eyes diverted to the floor and hair covering his eyes.

"Sammy?" Dean started, licking his lips. Where was he supposed to start? "What, uh, what exactly was that about back there?"

Sam kept his gaze down, avoiding Dean's stare and hoping John would hurry up and start the car.

But the car remained silent, and Sam fidgeted with his hands, dark bangs covering his face. "They were talking about you," he said to Dean. "They wanted to fuck you."

Dean looked away, his teeth clenched. After a stunned moment, he breathed out, "Oh," feeling more stupid than considering.

Sam sneered, his upper lip twitching. "Yeah. Oh."

John seethed and started the engine, veering out of the parking lot at a frighteningly fast speed, his knuckles white from the tight grip he held on the wheel.

Dean stole a glance at his father. "It's fine, Dad. Nothing happened."

John snorted. "Yeah, Dean, everything is just fucking _fine."_

"It _is," _Dean said, exasperated and annoyed. "Sam overheard their conversation and acted accordingly." He repeated for emphasis, "Nothing happened."  
>John needed to hear that, though. He'd almost lost one son to a sick rapist; he needed to know the same wasn't about to happen to the other.<p>

Sam stayed silent in the backseat, his own mind overloading with quiet rage. What if he hadn't noticed those men talking about his brother? What if they had caught them while they were leaving the diner, threatening them into submission with harsh words and loaded guns? Sure, the Winchesters were hunters, but they weren't willing to risk one of their own, not so blatantly. The men could have managed to get Sam as a hostage—obviously the weakest of the three—and Dean would have willingly chosen to go with the men with the sole intention of saving Sam.

Sure, he'd have saved Sam, but what about Dean?

Sam slammed his fist into the window, ignoring the dull pain as whatever conversation going on in the front went eerily silent. Would Sam have been able to live with himself? Knowing Dean had been as degraded as Sam so cruelly was?

Tears formed in his eyes without his will, and he cursed himself for his weakness. Dean was right. Nothing _happened._

He didn't notice Dean and John's gaze on him until Dean spoke, "Sammy?"

Sam looked up, his eyes traveling between Dean and John's eyes in the rearview mirror. Sam's mouth twitched as the pain in his hand sprang back. "Sorry, that was unnecessary."

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean said lightly, like he was handling a frightened child. Sam felt disgusted with himself. His incapability of keeping his emotions under control made him lash out, and now Dean felt like he had to coddle him just in case Sam fucked up again; but, instead of bruising his hand, ended up killing himself instead.

They had been driving in total silence when they finally reached the small motel, each getting out of the sleek Impala and filing toward their room.

The motel managed nodded to them when they entered the building, his smile wide and, for the most part, innocent enough. Ever since Sam's encounter with Larry, he was beginning to notice almost every supervisor of rundown, sleazy motels had at least a meager portion of repulsion.

(0)

"I'm gonna take a shower," Sam said immediately as John pushed the door open to reveal their small, moldy room. Both Dean and John seemed surprised, but said nothing as Sam gathered clean boxers and shut himself inside the bathroom.

Sam sighed, resting his head on the closed door. Listening, he heard nothing but stillness on the other side of the door.

_Damn, Sammy. You're so fucking gorgeous. Put that pretty mouth of yours on me again._

Sometimes it was so random. Sam could have been having the best day but, once night came, god only knew what he'd turn into, what he'd remember. He swallowed, trying to push away the thoughts. He contemplated it might have been because he was imprisoned in that dark motel room for all those months, the smallest of rays shining through the covered windows the only source of light he had ever been witness to. Maybe his time with Larry had birthed one of Sam's now biggest phobias.

Sam pulled his shirt over his head then stripped out of his jeans and boxers. He kept his back turned to the mirror. He remembered every moment he had with Larry, every wound; he didn't need it to be reestablished.

Sam turned the shower handle then, after a moment, stood under the spray, the trickling water ruthlessly cold. He shivered, but, as usual, refused to add any more heat to it. His father and brother deserved the hot water. Besides, for months Sam had been more than used to freezing showers by now.

He grabbed the soap and ran it over his body, his own hands still foreign when he was so used to Larry's. Sam shivered, this time having nothing to do with the arctic level of water.

He finished up quickly, shutting off the tap before stepping out and grabbing a towel. He dried off then threw the towel into the corner of the room, absently wondering when he'd stopped being so obsessed with cleanliness. The consideration was trivial, though, and he let it go, instead slipping into his boxers.

But what Sam had been trying to avoid for so long turned into an utter failure as he turned his eyes to the mirror. He froze, his eyes trailing to look at each scar with a mix of horror and awe.

Maybe he was wrong; maybe he _didn't _remember each pain he suffered. He took another step, edging cautiously toward the mirror and pulling his neck to the side, his finger lightly grazing over four adjacent scars. They looked like fingernail marks.

After a long moment of intense scrutiny, he broke out of his reverie and steered his gaze away, turning away from the mirror.

He opened the bathroom door to see both Dean and John cleaning their weapons at the table. They purposely didn't look up at him, and Sam wanted to heave a sigh of relief. They were trying to leave him with at least a little personal space, as much as one was allowed in a puny, dingy room like theirs.

He went to stand behind Dean and put his hands on both the man's shoulders, determined to stop being the burdened Winchester. He loved his family for trying to protect him, trying to give him space.

He was just tired of needing it.

"Need any help?"

Dean smiled at his brother in pleasant surprise, beaming for his initiative in conversation. "Nah, we were just getting finished. Thanks, though, Sammy."

Sam nodded, keeping his hands on Dean's shoulders; not as a lifeline, but as a sense of security for _Dean_. See how he could suck it up. See how he could be the strong Winchester his family wanted.

He bent down and put his arms around Dean's neck, his hands resting lightly on his collarbones and his chin on his own forearm. The touch didn't repulse him, and Dean just sat there with a shit-eating grin, ecstatic.

Dean immediately put the gun down, shooting his dad a brief glance before turning around in his chair and standing up to face Sam. He bent at the knees and grabbed the back of Sam's. Sam gasped in surprise as Dean heaved, throwing Sam over his shoulder and walking him over to the bed nearest them.

"Damn Sammy, could you weigh any less?" he joked, uncurling Sam from his shoulder and carefully tossing him onto the mattress, Dean climbing in on his stomach beside him.

Sam rolled his eyes, putting his arms over his head and hands beneath his damp hair. Dean smirked, Sam's deep eyes looking back at him in amusement.

Dean looked down, his eyes drifting over Sam's chest, and Sam fought the urge to squirm self-consciously. This wasn't some judgmental waitress gawking at his scars. This was Dean_._

Dean brought a hesitant hand up to Sam's abdomen, lightly tracing the deep scar trailing from wrist to nipple to beneath his boxers then down to his calf. How could he let that fucker Larry touch his brother? They should've known better than to leave Sammy alone. Sam was too valuable for them to take that kind of risk.

Dean stopped his curious finger after a moment, bringing his hand back to his side and looking at Sam with a shaky smile. He sighed. "I'm so glad you're okay," he whispered. And he knew Sam wasn't _okay _okay, but he was alive, and that was so fucking important.  
>Sam returned the smile, his own smaller and more timid. "Me too." The smile slowly melted away, though, and his gaze turned to Dean once more. "I'm glad…I'm glad that you're okay, too." He swallowed, his eyes flickering away from Dean's for a moment. "If those men…if they had…"<p>

Dean's mouth went slack, too, and he put a hand to Sam's lips before he could finish. "Hey, don't talk like that, Sammy. Nothing happened." Dean attempted a chuckle. "You make me sound like tape recording, dude. Nothing happened."

Dean's fake smile slid off easily as Sam left the joke unremarked, his gaze solemn and grave. He was silent for a long moment, long enough for Dean not to expect a response or continuation to the conversation. When Sam did speak, though, his voice sounded small and defenseless. "You make it sound like it's no big deal, Dean. Getting raped."

Dean's eyes widened in immediate alarm, and he could almost _feel_ John tensing the hell up as he further listened in from the table.

Shit shit shit.

"No. No, Sammy, that's not what I meant at all, I swear to God. I was just—."

"It's okay," Sam said quietly. Understandingly. "I…I know what you meant." Dean didn't seem too sure, and Sam emphasized, "I do." He shrugged lightly, looking away. "I just...it's hard. The thought of you dealing with, with what I did…" Sam licked his lips. "During the court trial, I…I wondered if I had liked it, the sex. That maybe I had liked it but never really acknowledged it…I had done things, disgusting things you couldn't…" Sam's mouth grimaced in shame, "Couldn't even _begin_ to imagine." Sam shook his head. "It wasn't hard to believe I had enjoyed any of it."

He paused, taking a breath. "I know better now, though. That I didn't, that it was repulsive. But Larry…he was so _manipulative_. It was so easy for me to doubt myself." He closed his eyes. "If those two men had succeeded…you would've had to deal with that warring in your head for weeks. Months. The constant battle that you were as sick as the man thrusting into you." Sam opened his eyes then, glazed with tears, and looked into Dean's green ones. "It's one thing to blame the rapist, the right thing, but another thing entirely to blame yourself. And that's what makes it so much fucking worse." He sat up, then, facing Dean head on, courageous. "And it scares the shit out of me that you could've ended up exactly like me."

Dean's mouth quivered in blatant despair, his eyes over spilling with thick, heavy tears. How could he not have guessed at that? That Sam had blamed himself for his own pain? That'd he'd even speculated on whether he had _liked _being raped?

The problem seemed so clear now, glaring scornfully at Dean and his useless naïveté as Sam had suffered such horrid inner conflicts.

"Sammy…I'm so sorry Dad and I weren't there to help you, especially with something so…" So what? So horrible? So incredibly repulsive he couldn't even conceive what Sam had gone through, couldn't conceive all those disdainful thoughts of disappointment and self-loathing?

Sam didn't like anyone's pity, remembered when Dean came across as that, and left the sentence unfinished, merely shaking his head with a miserable, "I'm so fucking sorry."

Sam smiled sadly. "Please don't apologize for my sake." He shrugged lightly, at the same time trying to meet Dean's eyes. "Larry's dead, no longer a threat, and those two bastards at the diner are gone, so…maybe everything's okay now." His smile turned more genuine. "Besides, just that you care is enough."

Dean looked to Sam at that, offering a grin in response.

Serious moment over, Dean wrapped an arm around Sam's neck, bringing him toward him so he could rub his knuckles into the boy's hair. Sam giggled, squirming in his grip, his hands slapping at the arm at his neck.

John chuckled, indisputably happy with their endearing antics. The boys played around for a while longer until at last they lay there exhausted and panting heavily on the bed, their energy fully spent.

John finally stood, glancing at the clock before hitting the foot Dean had hanging over the end of the bed. "Come on; bedtime."

Dean nodded in acquiescence, the smile still etched in his features as he lightly tugged Sam to the front of the bed. Sam complied, slipping under the sheets with his brother.

Beneath the covers, Dean managed to wiggle out of his jeans, wadding them up and aiming at his duffle bag.

The throw fell short, though, and Sam smirked in amiable derision at the pants now in the middle of the room. "Disappointing."

Dean only flicked him off, unable to hide his smile, and shifted to find a more comfortable position.

Sam's smile deepened, the still foreign feeling of safety overwhelming as Dean slipped a protective arm over his shoulder. In moments, both fell into unconsciousness, wrapped in each other's soft embrace.

**XxXxXxXxX**

**Hope you enjoyed! More to come later if you so wish it.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again! I know, I know; I'm a failure on updating. >.**

****Also, I kind of forgot to do some warnings for this so..this entire story will include-  
>Molestation, Hinted at Rape, Vulgar Language, Shooting people.<strong>**

****Alright, back to the story.****

****Enjoy!****

"Sammy?"

The kid thrashed again in the bed, his face glistening with sweat and eyes squeezed tightly shut. Now fully awake, Dean pushed lightly at Sam's bony shoulder. "Sammy, wake up." After no response, Dean pushed harder, almost considering just picking the kid up and tossing him back onto the bed.

Dean grit his teeth, realizing this to be Sam's second nightmare this week.

And Dean still couldn't heal him.

He had tried, had tried so hard to help his brother, but it was like Sam just didn't want to hear it. He'd pushed him away, told Dean he didn't need his help, that he could deal just fine on his own.

Like he didn't want to fucking "_burden"_ him with his issues.

Sam's eyes shot open, his eyes glazed as they relived the nightmare. He breathed heavily through his mouth, looking around the room in fright, almost as though he were recognizing it to be something it's not, something horrendous and evil and disgusting. Sure, the room was disgusting, fungus filling just about every corner of the room, but that wasn't new to them.

Sam's eyes finally landed on Dean, and the recognition Dean had been expecting to alight in his brother's eyes was not there, not at all. Instead of Sam's usually bright green eyes, they were dulled with what looked like dreadful resignation.

Dean had no time to decipher what this meant as Sam got onto his knees and climbed on top of him, staying under the covers as he promptly pressed his body flush against Dean's, one hand moving to clutch at Dean's hair.

Dean's eyes widened maddeningly as Sam immediately lavished Dean's neck with plump lips, sucking robotically on the flesh as if he was taught how to do it so precisely that he could do it just as expertly on auto-pilot. He violently humped Dean's thigh, letting out a thrilled moan that didn't reach his eyes. "I can be good. I swear, I'm good." Sam's words seemed strained, like he didn't actually want this but he still had to play the part. It sickened Dean to think this was how Larry made Sam act. Sam's hands trailed down to Dean's nipples, squeezing them tightly.

Dean, at last awoken from his frozen state of comatose, squeaked and thrashed under Sam's smaller body, trying his best not to hurt him as he tried prying him off. His baby brother seemed to take that as a go-ahead, and in an instant their crotches were pressed together, Sam thrusting his groin against Dean's. "You like that. I know you like that. How do you want it? I'll give it to you, whatever you want." Sam's mouth attached to Dean's cheek like a leech, and Dean's eyes were wide with horror as he continued his attempt at pulling Sam off of him. "Tell me again, how well do I fuck? I wanna hear it." Dean tried his best to ignore Sam's words, their meaning only further proving the degradation Sam had been forced to endure during his time with Larry. Tears stung his eyes, and he finally succeeded in turning Sam around and crushing him to his chest, restraining both his arms and legs with his own limbs.

Sam went with it, pressing his ass into Dean's groin, moaning as Dean gasped. "You can have me. I don't want me. Please, take me. I'm yours," left Sam's mouth and tears sprayed Dean's eyes as he realized his plan hadn't fixed anything at all.

Dean released Sam's arms and put his hands against Sam's back, heaving as he pushed Sam to the edge of the bed.

"Sam. Sammy, stop—."

Sam flipped around to face his brother, moaning as he pressed his hand firmly against his own crotch and stroked it, looking lustfully into Dean's eyes the entire time. "Come on, I know you want this. Let's play." His eyes were lidded, the green in his eyes hidden as if he were only half-conscious, still consumed by the nightmare.

Dean kept his hands tight around his brother's forearms, his arms locked and strained. "It's me, your brother. Dean."

Sam's arms stopped reaching and groping, and for a moment Dean thought he would try again, try to touch him in a way he knew Sam didn't want in the first place. Sam continued lying motionless, and his eyes finally showed something other than false, artificial lust. The acknowledgment Dean had been waiting for was finally present.

Sam gulped. "Dean…" Instant shame fell over Sam in a suddenly overwhelming tide, and he scooted away, humiliated, tears glazing over his eyes. "Oh my god, I-I'm s-sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't m-mean to…" He backed up until he was leaning precariously over the edge, both literally and metaphorically, as if afraid he would try _that _again if he wasn't careful.

Something in Dean's heart ached as he looked into Sam's petrified and utterly lost expression, and he shifted in his spot on the bed, absently wishing Sam's ministrations hadn't gotten him a damn boner. "Don't worry about it, Sammy," Dean said, trying to make Sam understand it wasn't his fault. He patted Sam's arm lightly, reassuringly, and Sam retracted, bringing his arm close to his chest.

Sam shut his eyes tighter, trapped in his thoughts. "God." He sighed, bringing a hand up to rub his temples. "I…I-I was never like that…with him. I d-don't know why I d-did that. I'm sorry."

"Hey," Dean said, scooting closer to Sam, ignoring the pangs of rejection. "You did nothing wrong, Sam."

Sam flipped back onto his side facing Dean, his eyes squinting as though he was in pain. "How can you say that? I just tried to have sex with you, my _brother._" He rubbed a hand over his face, choking back a sob. "Larry was right; I'm so disgusting."

Dean grabbed Sam's forearm, his voice obstinate and inflexible. "Hey, I don't want to hear that. Larry _lied. _He was a complete shit that took advantage of you. You didn't choose that life with him and there is _nothing _wrong with you. You were caught up in that nightmare and, when you woke up, the remnants were still stuck in your head." He wrapped his arms around his baby brother and Sam struggled against the warm arms. He didn't deserve his love. He pushed stubbornly against Dean's chest, trying to push him back but, after several failed attempts, he sagged into the touch, defeated.

"You didn't do anything wrong," Dean said again.

"You can't say that."

Dean sighed, one of his hands absently playing with strands of long hair. How can he make his brother understand?

Sam shifted, still uncomfortable, uncertain. "It…it wasn't with Larry."

Dean looked at Sam. "What?"

"My nightmare. I…I was…I was with…" He sighed heavily, and Dean was beginning to think his little brother just didn't care anymore. After another moment Sam spoke again, his voice muffled against Dean's chest. "When will this finally go away?"

Dean closed his eyes, pressing his cheek into Sam's hair. "I dunno, Sammy. I dunno."

"It's not fair."

"I know, but it'll go away soon."

Oh, how wrong he was.

XxXxXxXxXxXx

Dean got up early next morning to see Sam lying on his back, his torso long with arms stretched high over his head, hands resting on the headboard. Dean swallowed tautly. Whenever Dean woke up before Sam—which wasn't that often—he'd always see Sam in this position. Was this how Sammy always slept when he was with Larry?

He blinked in horror as his thoughts turned to _why_, and fought desperately to ignore the taunting words. Sam was clad in only boxers, and the pale, protruding scars were prominent on Sam's unblemished skin. He stared at the one that trailed deeply down his stomach, watching as it disappeared below the waistband of his boxers and reappeared to trail down his leg. He glanced again at Sam's covered body, and traced another scar lightly, his finger softly dipping into Sam's collarbone and onto his shoulder. He pondered how his brother could've gotten it.

Then stopped when he found a bite mark beside it.

Dean turned to get out of bed and away from his past. _Sam's _past.

"Hey," came a small voice.

Dean spun around at the softly spoken word to find Sam still laying there, eyes still closed, but the coherence of the greeting made Dean wonder exactly how long Sam had been sleeping. His face reddened at the thought.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said just as softly, scooting back down to lay on his side beside his brother. He watched Sam's face for recognition, but no other emotion was written there.

The two brothers lay there for several moments of silence, of peace they weren't usually allowed the luxury of.

"Hey, Sammy?" Dean whispered, unsure if Sammy had fallen back asleep.

But he shouldn't have worried. Very rarely is Sam able to sleep and, when he does, he sure as hell won't be able to do it again for a long time.

Even before Larry Sam had had trouble sleeping.

Without outwardly reacting, Sam made a questioning _hmm _sound. Dean took that as good a confirmation as any.

"Why…" he started, then quickly changed tactics, licking his lips with apprehension and helpless curiosity. "If y-you don't mind m-me asking…why do you, uh, why do you sleep like that?" He nodded his head to Sam's outstretched arms, absently realizing Sam couldn't see him.

Sam did open his eyes then; not out of vivid horror of having to relive a wretched, bloodcurdling memory that deserved to be long forgotten, but of dull remembrance.

"I'm sorry, does it bother you?" Sam asked quietly, beginning to bring his arms back by his side.

"No, _no," _Dean said hurriedly, bringing a hand up to both of Sam's, pushing them back above Sam's head. "I w-was just, I was just…" Dean huffed, wordless.

Sam seemed to get it, though, and didn't ask for clarification. "Larry," he said, his gaze on the ceiling. "For the majority of my time with him, I was chained to the headboard." He twisted a wrist, indicating the scars encircling it.

Dean swallowed hard, a bad taste beginning to develop in his mouth. He'd known it would be something like that, he'd _known, _so…why'd he have to ask? Why'd he just have to hurt Sam more by making him relive it?

What kind of a selfish brother was he?

He shifted in his spot beside his brother, fidgety. "I'm sorry, Sammy, I shouldn't…I shouldn't have asked. That was—."

"No." Sam brought his arms to his chest and turned on his side to face Dean, his gaze imploring and full of emotion. It took Dean's breath away.

"No, please don't apologize, please. I don't mind you asking me questions. It used to hurt, used to make me realize how sick it was and how sick _I _am. But now…" he paused, looking away. "Now it makes me feel less like the crazy, scarred guy at the circus and more like a well-cared for brother." A corner of his lip twitched into a smile. "You, you can ask me whatever you want if you'd like."

Tears built up in Dean's eyes, and the threat of completely breaking down in front of Sam was so likely it was embarrassing. How could his baby brother, his _baby _brother, be so strong? How could he look into the eye of the storm and feel unthreatened by its tremendous strength and capability to kill?

When had his brother changed from a small kid to this matured teenager far beyond his years?

Dean nodded, smiling as tears trailed down his cheeks. He was so damn proud of Sam, so proud of what he'd become despite his tragedies.

XxXxXxXxXxXx

When Dean trailed into the kitchen he noticed John had left a small note on the fridge, his scribbly, sloppy handwriting indicating a hunt a few towns over and that he'd be back in a few days. Dean hissed through his teeth, crumpling the paper tightly in his fist. Because really, what the hell? He just decided he was going to up and leave them, leave Sam?

"Dad's gone," Sam said, sitting at the chair in the corner of the small kitchen, saying things he knows Dean already knows.

"Yeah."

"You're angry," he said, more as a statement than a question.

Dean sighed, nodding. "Yeah."

"Why?"

Dean gulped, looking away from Sam. "I dunno, just don't think he needs to be hunting yet. We're still…you know..."

Sam shook his head, like he _didn't _know.

"…Recovering."

Sam was silent.

Dean heaved a sigh, pulling a chair out from the kitchen table and flipping it around. He sat, his and Sam's knees almost touching. "Listen, Sammy, I know this is hard. I know…" Unexpectedly, he felt himself get flustered, and he tried to bat his emotions away. "I know…I know it's been hard for you, but Dad and I are going to protect you. We're not going to let anything happen to you again. And what happened last night? Wasn't your fault. You'll get better."

Sam shifted in his seat, watching Dean's gaze intently as he searched for any notion of pretenses, that Dean was lying to him. When he found none, he looked away, his suspicions being replaced with the fragments of humiliation he had felt from the other night, still hanging heavy on him. He sighed, leaning his elbow on his knee and his forehead on his palm.

What would Dean think of him now? Would he look at him differently, every glimpse he gets of his brother a glimpse of him pressing his crotch against his? Maybe Dean will think Sam actually wanted it from him, was sick enough to think of Dean romantically like that. Maybe instead, Dean will think Sam liked that with _Larry. _That Sam was sick and disgusting for letting Larry fuck him because he _enjoyed _it.

The thought brought a dirty, acrid taste to Sam's mouth, and he swallowed, trying to wash it down. It didn't go away.

He was brought out of his thoughts when a gentle hand fell on his knee, and he looked up to see Dean watching him, concerned and sympathetic. Not _empathetic_, Dean couldn't have known what he'd gone through—and Sam was going to keep it that way—but nonetheless supportive of Sam's position.

He liked that, thinking his brother cared about him. It made him feel special, like he was actually important enough for someone like Dean to give a damn about him.

Sam lightly pushed Dean's reassuring hand away, instead standing and walking over to the coffee machine, getting out the ingredients. "Coffee?"

Dean seemed to stagger in his response, surprised with Sam's rejection. "Yeah, sure, sure."

Sam seemed content to be left alone, probably still mortified from the last night, and Dean was okay with that. He was going to help his brother heal, and if he had to leave the kid alone to do it, then that's what he'd do.

Obliging to his brother's unspoken words, Dean went to the living room and plopped onto the worn couch, kicking his feet up on the rickety table and grabbing the remote control.

Something swished from the corner of his eye, just the smallest flicker of movement, but it was enough for Dean to look in the direction of the front door, his mind initially thinking, _Dad's here already? _

Dean already had a tight grip on the gun hidden under the sofa cushion, because Dad _couldn't _be back, not when he said he'd be gone for a few days.

But instead of anyone bursting unannounced through the door, a small envelope was pushed in from beneath the door, now lying still and ominous on the carpet.

Dean was immediately on his feet, scooping down to retrieve the letter. In small print was the word "Sammy" and that was more than enough to send Dean into action as he threw the door open, his keen eyes searching for the culprit. After several long moments, with no person in sight, he shut and locked the door, checking that the salt was still in place. He looked at the envelope, his eyes tightening as he sat back on the couch, tearing it open ruthlessly.

Dean didn't know why he had automatically assumed it was something menacing and evil, something that would make his skin crawl. In any other circumstances he probably would've just handed it to Sam and not given much thought to it. But he knew better now; he'd dealt with enough in his short yet terribly long life to be able to differentiate between the two without being given much in the ways of clues. Sam didn't go to school, Sam didn't have any friends. There was no reason for him to get mail.

The handwriting was legible and printed tidily onto the paper. He gulped, reading every word.

Hello again, Winchesters. I hope you all haven't missed me too much. Because I know I've missed you.

I have recently decided to do you a temporary, yet nonetheless pleasant courtesy by taking the time to notify you of something you may deem as rather important.

I'm so so sorry to inform you that, if the appropriate precautions are not taken, your Samuel will soon be kidnapped and endlessly raped. Again.

But damn, don't you just love bluntness? Makes things so much quicker.

Do you remember Joe? The decreed innocent man that tried to buy little Sammy for sex? Yeah, THAT Joe. He's a crazy son of a bitch, too. He has been forced to wait so long to enjoy little Sammy, and I'd hate to see his dominant hand fall off from overuse.

We hope to have only one victim, but if anyone gets in the way we will have lots of fun removing any unwanted obstacles. And Joe so enjoys removing obstacles, particularly ones constructed of human flesh.

Ta-ta for now.

Sincerely,

Your Super Secret Admirer. XOXO"

The letter fell from Dean's hands and for a second he thought he was another character out of his nightmares, a place constructed in his mind where someone was out to hurt Sam and he couldn't stop it, he couldn't _save Sam_ in time. His entire body was stiff as he stared into the space the letter had originally been held, his eyes locked and muscles tight. Then all of a sudden he was full of life, shouting for his brother and jolting off the couch and running around the room and frantically searching for his phone.

Sam rushed into the room, and Dean bumped into him roughly, his little brother precariously holding two full cups of coffee. "Wha—."

"Sam, _where _is my _phone?" _And he just looks at his brother, because he can't let Larry get his hands on him again. _Joe. It's Joe._ He can't let that happen to his baby brother, not _again. _Not after everything that's happened to him, everything he's been through.

Sam's standing there wide-eyed, spilled coffee dribbling off his fingers. "Uh—."

Dean shoved his shoulders, harder than he had intended, and more coffee spilled from the cups and onto Sam's hands. "Come _on, _Sammy_. Fuck." _And Dean was already moving, ignoring Sam's gaze and throwing stray apparel across the room and cushions off their mats and drawers from the surrounding wood of the Sam's taken he may never be the same again, he may lose the very essence that made Sam _Sam, _and damn if he wasn't so close to losing it the first time. Dean wasn't going to let anything happen to his brother. He wasn't there for him when Larry was around, but he was here for him now with this fucking _Joe_.

Dean threw all the sheets off the bed, and under one of them was his small silver phone, and he almost threw himself on it, flipping it open and speed-dialing his father within moments.

As Dean was waiting for the person on the other line to pick up, Sam noticed a stray letter lying on the floor. Curious, he placed the coffee on the leaning table in front of the couch and picked it up.

Dean tapped his foot impatiently onto the moldy carpet and, several rings later, the female, monotone voice relayed Dean to voicemail. Dean cursed and waited for the _goddamn_ beep. "Dad, it's Dean. You have to get back here _now. _Someone's after Sam. Hurry the _fuck _up." He snapped the phone shut and turned around to see Sam sitting on the couch with his head in his hand, the other hand limp with the letter in it. He looked like he was going to be sick.

Dean wanted to hit himself, wanted to cry until he died, because he didn't want his baby brother, the best brother in the fucking _world_, to have to read _that. _He walked swiftly to Sam and sat beside him, taking the note from his loose fingers. "Sammy, Sammy it's gonna be okay. We're gonna get out of this. Don't worry."

He looked so old, Dean realized, but so young at the same time. Sam was curled up in himself, trying to make himself as small and unnoticed as possible, like a kid in the presence of adults. But there were lines on his face, bruises under his eyes that didn't belong there on his youthful skin. Sam has been through so much more than other kids his age—_anyone's _age. It wasn't fair.

Dean grabbed his brother's thin wrist and pulled him closer to him, as if someone could take him away if he wasn't in sight every moment. He made a decision in that moment, Sam's warm skin under his own, and Dean realized that, what happened to Sam? Wasn't happening again. Fuck the world, because nobody's going to touch Sam except him and Dad. And Dean couldn't do this alone.

"Do you know where Dad is?"

Dean looked back to his baby brother, one of the only people in his life he'd die for. He swallowed because, really, he had no idea where their father was. "I, I don't…" Then he was redialing John's number, putting the phone to his ear as he waited. He slid his hand down Sam's wrist until it reached the kid's hand, and he clasped it tightly, comfortingly. Sam sat silent beside Dean, emotionless and unaffected by Dean's unusual affection.

"Hello?" came a gruff voice.

Dean started, and relief flooded through him as he immediately clambered for a response. "Dad, did you get my message? You have to come—."

"Son, son," John said, distracted, and Dean just stared at the phone, his brow creased in shock and hurt. "I'm…I'm doing something important here, Dean."

Dean stood abruptly, voice roaring. "No, Dad, whatever you're doing doesn't _matter _right now. Sam's in trouble and you have to come home _now._ You remember that guy, Joe? He's back."

He heard John abruptly inhale, and then there was utter silence, like he was forced to make a decision he didn't want to make. Before Dean said more, there was a loud thud in the background then cloth being thrown into a duffel. "Is Sam with you now?"

Dean's grip tightened around Sam's wrist. "Yes sir, he's with me." _He's safe. _

Dean could almost _hear _John nodding in approval as he listened to guns and weapons being hurriedly gathered up. "Okay, I'll be there in two hours. Don't leave the motel room." A moment later Dean heard a door being shut and the Impala being revved up.

"Yes sir," Dean replied before hanging up, worry flooding through him. Two _hours? _What if Joe came before then?

Dean turned and plucked the gun from between the cushions, vaguely aware that he had been dragging Sam along with him. He looked over to his brother. He was so pale, the skin under his eyes dark, too dark. The kid's eyes were dilated and wide, finally turning to look at Dean. They looked haunted, terrified, and Dean gently tugged Sam to sit on the worn sofa. He put an arm around Sam, whispering words of reassurance. "It's gonna be okay, Sammy. Dad's on his way and nothing's gonna happen to you. I'll make sure of it," he said, his grip tightening on the gun. He'd be damned before he let some pervert bastard take his baby brother from him again.

**XxXxXxXxXxX**

**And there we are. If this story took a turn you all aren't approving of then I really apologize. Hopefully I'll be able to redeem myself after all this blows over? Mmmm...**

**Until next time!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Alright, so I realize I'm a complete ass and have not updated this story in months. I'm ALWAYS saying how I hate it when fanfic authors take forever to update and leave their readers waiting. Total hypocrite, right?**

**Well, good news. I've been working on this for a while, and I've officially updated and COMPLETED this entire story. This is now the last chapter I will be adding to this story.**

**WARNINGS: Disturbing images, Rape, Generally sad scenes, Intoxication.**

**So without further ado, I hope you enjoy, for the last time, The Agonizing Redemption.**

A booming knock on the door sounded sent Sam and Dean jumping spastically out of their seats, Dean immediately scrambling to his feet and pushing Sam behind him. Dean's gun was trained on the door, his finger hovering over the trigger as he slowly walked toward the door, heart pounding heavily against his chest. Something scraped against the other side of the door, like a key grating through the hole, and a moment later the door was opening, a figure stepping through the threshold.

Dean breathed a huge sigh of relief as John stepped into the room and he wiped the accumulated sweat off his forehead, utter elation flooding through him.

John looked at them and immediately checked each over for injuries. "Everything okay?" he asked.

The adrenaline left Dean in a rush as he tucked the gun into the waistband of his pants. "Yes sir, everything's fine."

"Nothing suspicious?"

"Nothing."

John nodded. He looked antsy, like he wanted to do something but was afraid of his sons' reactions. Then something seemed to light in John's eyes as he made a decision, and surprised both Winchesters by bringing them both into a crushing hug, Dean first. "I was so fucking worried." Dean's eyes widened, his mouth forming into a happy smile. _Finally, _someone else to help protect Sammy. God, he was so fucking relieved.

John released him and went on to Sam, throwing his arms around the boy's waist as Sam flinched, his arms coming to hesitantly wrap around John's upper torso. John's forehead was laying on the nape of Sam's neck, and Dean was smiling so fucking wide and tears were spilling down his cheeks he almost missed it. He almost goddamn _missed _it.

But he didn't.

At first Dean thought he was just seeing things, that all the ecstasy at seeing everyone alive and generally safe made him jittery and happy. But then John was opening his mouth, and Dean thought he was going to say something along the lines of, "I'm glad you're okay, son".

Instead of words of comfort, John bit down hard on Sam's neck, his teeth slicing through the flesh as his arms tightened around the kid's bony hips, imprisoning the boy in his grasp.

Sam flailed against his father, and not even a second later Dean had taken the few necessary steps forward. Violently, he shoved John off _his _baby brother and punched him viciously in the jaw, flinging the older man backward on his ass. Dean immediately turned back to his brother, terrified as he watched red drip down Sam's neck and onto his shirt. The kid was panting, holding a hand to the wound, the viscous liquid dribbling in between his fingers as he wobbled on weak legs toward Dean, away from their father. Dean stepped protectively in front of Sam, his eyes focused on his father's figure.

John got on his feet and turned around to face the brothers, his mouth in the form of a wide, mocking grin, his eyes flickering deep yellow, covering the whites of his eyes, before turning back to the normal brown. "Long time no see, Deano." He turned to Sam. "It's been a _long_ while since I've seen you, Sammy. I sure have missed your pretty face."

Dean pushed Sam further behind him, mainly just to make sure his brother was still _there. _And thank fucking God he was. "What the hell do you want?"

The demon cocked an eyebrow. "You got my letter, didn't you?" He smirked. "Deano, you know _exactly _what I want. Joe's been quite the impatient one and I'm here to provide."

Dean's eyes squinted in barely contained anger and he suddenly berated himself. How did he not know? How did he not _know? _Of course Joe would be out for fucking vengeance after Larry died.

God, he was so fucking stupid.

Dean lifted the gun, it's direction fixed on the demon's head.

The demon wagged his finger. "Not a good idea, Deano. I'm still Daddy, remember?"

Dean hissed, his gun wavering. It was a demon, so it wouldn't fucking help anyway. "You can't have my brother."

The demon's smirk widened, the expression wrong and twisted on their father's face. "And that's where you're wrong because, you see, I can do _anything _I want. Including Sammy."

Dean grit his teeth together tightly and he brought the gun back up to his head. "Shut the hell up! Don't talk about my brother like that."

The demon, _Dad, _walked forward with his hands behind his back, arrogant and smug. "Whatcha gonna do, Deano? Shoot me?" He put his arms up at his side, as if in self-admiration. "Not like it'd do any good anyway, so let's forget the pretense." He put a hand out, more serious this time. "Now give him to me."

Dean shook his head fervently, Sam's burning presence behind him the sole reason for him to continue fighting, to continue _living_. "No. Make that a _hell _no." _Not again, not again, this can't happen to my baby brother, not again. _

The demon nodded like he was expecting it, grinning like he _wanted_ it that way. "Alright, then…" he shrugged nonchalantly, smile widening. "I guess I'll just have to take both of you."

The demon suddenly vanished, and Dean's head swiveled back and forth violently, his heart beating irregularly, too _fast_ as his gun erratically changed directions as he waited for it to reappear. He felt Sam grip the material of his shirt tightly, urgently, and a small gasp elicited from the boy.

Before Dean could turn around, _save Sammy, _his hand holding the gun felt suddenly lighter, empty, and a cold metal hit the back of his head, sending him to his knees. He groaned, barely conscious as he heard a thump on the ground come from behind him. _Sammy. _Dean's eyes rolled to the back of his head as he landed on the cool carpet, unconscious and defenseless.

_0o0o0o0o_

Dean was awoken when something hard jabbed into his side, and he moaned, trying to roll away from the touch but finding his limbs stuck, locked tightly in place.

His eyes shot open, and he looked down to see manacles attaching his ankles to the floor, and his wrists to the wall.

The room was skinny and long…and, aside from the damn demon that had kicked him, empty. He cursed, pulling hard on the chains, not caring if it was a useless attempt at escape. Where the hell was his _brother_, goddamn it_?_

The demon _tsked_ him. "Now now, Dean, don't be so spiteful like last time. It's unhealthy."

Last time. The demon was talking about the _first _damn time he'd been chained up by this bastard.

"Where's Sam?" he asked, noticing the demon was no longer possessing his father's body, but a thinner, younger man with dirty blond hair.

Just then, the door at the end closest to Dean burst open, and Sam was being forcefully dragged into the room before being flung into Dean, his head bumping against his chest.

Dean wanted so bad to bring Sam's face to his, read his expression, see what had _happened _while he was out, but the manacles around his wrist were persistent if nothing else, and he brought his chin to poke at the top of Sam's head. "Hey, Sammy. Sammy? What happened? Look at me."

Sam nodded with a gruff "I'm fine" but ignored his brother's gaze, keeping his eyes on the floor with his hair acting as a thick curtain. Dean leaned his head forward a bit, and grimaced when he saw the bite mark on Sam's neck. The bleeding had stopped, but it was still ugly and red, the teeth indentions distinctly imprinted into his skin.

Sam grunted as he got his hands under him and pushed himself off Dean to lean against the wall.

The man that had brought Sam in took a step forward, and Dean threw him a menacing glare, the man's tall and muscular form making Dean's stomach ache in fear for his brother.

_Joe._

The man's grin was wide as he eyed Sam a long moment before his gaze flickered to Dean. "This the brother?" he asked, looking at the demon.

The demon nodded, bringing a leg out to toe Dean's foot. "He's quite the protective one, really." He grinned. "Cute little thing."

Dean hissed, pulling at his chains, veins popping out of his arms.

But Joe seemed surprised, _hmm_ing like it was something interesting. He went over to Sam, bending over and straddling the kid's legs, grinning as he bent down to put his lips to his neck, his eyes watching Dean.

Dean worked frantically against his restraints, his fists clenched in tight fists. "Goddamn it, get the _fuck _off my brother, you bastard. Don't you fucking touch him."

Sam's neck was strained, but the rest of his body was stiff, his eyes moving wildly, and Dean knew the demon was keeping him physically in place.

And then Joe was leaning back, off Sam's neck but still on the kid's thighs. He put a finger to the boy's cheek, petting the thin skin lightly. "You're so beautiful." He smiled carnally, and suddenly lifted himself off Sam, moving over to stand directly in front of Dean, watching him interestedly before kneeling, their gaze at eye-level. "So you're protective of little Sammy, huh? You're pretty hot, too, you know that?"

Dean growled as Joe reached a hand out, gathering up saliva in his mouth and spitting into Joe's face.

Joe sneered, wiping the saliva off his cheek with a vindictive grimace. He turned to the demon expectantly as Dean was preparing for another spitball, and his body was suddenly seized up, frozen. He fought against it, and cursed when the demon's grip tightened. Dean tried for a snarl, but his mouth stayed clamped shut, his jaw twitching.

Joe climbed onto Dean's lap, and Dean tried to throw him off. He cursed himself loudly, still immobile.

Joe slapped Dean hard across the face. "Your disobedience is unwelcome here," Joe said, his face serious. "For every act of defiance you make, Sammy will be punished."

Dean hissed and the demon's influence seemed to wash away from his body, but he didn't act on it. So easily he could've head-butted Joe, threw him off his lap, but he didn't. He didn't move a damn muscle. He gulped audibly, watching as Joe's mouth widen into a grin as the man's hands came up to Dean's chest, stroking his nipples. Distantly, he heard Sam struggling against his unseen restrictions, but he ignored it, his attention solely on Joe.

Joe cocked his head, watching Dean's eyes as his fingers played with Dean's nipples. "Are you willing? Are you willing to take Sam's place as my slave?"

Dean nodded fiercely, his throat aching so much he didn't trust his voice. "Yes," he tried anyway, his voice hoarse and throaty. "Yes."

"No, don't. Take me. I'll make it good, just take me," Sam begged, the demon's restraints evidently released enough that he could speak. The other physical restraints seemed in place enough, though, his arms held tight above his head, similar to how Dean was.

Joe turned to the demon wryly, but anyone could tell the man was turned on. "Seems to me like they're _both_ protective. It's hot."

Dean shook his head, ignoring the man's amusement. He needed to produce _lust,_ not humor. "Don't take him." He lifted his hips off the ground and pressed his groin against Joe's. "I'm older, better. Just have _me_."

Joe moaned as Dean shoved himself harder against him, but his gaze was focused on Sam. "You want me to have him, Sammy?," he asked, cupping Dean in his hand

Sam shook his head frantically. "No, take me, just take _me."_

"So you want me to have _you?"_

Sam nodded and, as an afterthought, licked his lips seductively. "Leave him alone so we can have some real fun."

"_No,_" Dean growled, reaching uselessly for Joe as he lifted himself off his lap. "No, take _me, _goddamn it_." _Tears blurred his vision and he blinked, letting them drip carelessly down his cheeks. "Please."

But his pleas went unnoticed as Joe went to kneel beside Sam, his eyes darkened in lust. "Whatcha gonna do to me, baby boy, whatcha gonna do?"

Sam smiled lustfully. "Oh, so many things. I could show you," he said, gesturing to the invisible shackles. "Just gotta lemme go."

Joe nodded frantically, looking to the demon, impatience evident on his face. "Let him go."

The demon seemed uncertain, then shrugged, releasing Sam with a careless wave of his hand.

Sam wasted no time as he pounced on Joe, wrapping his legs around his waist and his hands cupping the older man's face. "Take me."

Joe slammed Sam into the wall, and he gripped the back of Sam's thighs, bringing them closer to his crotch. "And what if I wanted Dean back? Whatcha gonna do to make sure I don't go back to your bro?"

Sam crushed his lips to Joe's, disregarding Dean's shouts as he used his hips to press himself flush against Joe, eliciting a loud groan from the older man. "Ah, God."

Joe moaned again into the boy's mouth, and he seemed overwhelmed, like his brain was overloading with the essence of _Sam._

Dean's screams were filling the room now, hysterical and feverish, but both Sam and Joe ignored them as Joe brought one hand to wrap around Sam's ass, his hand snug between Sam and the wall. "Mmm, so good. No wonder Larry kept ya for so long," he said into Sam's mouth.

Sam parted from the kiss as the two shared the same air, their exhales flowing into the other's mouth. For the smallest of seconds, he turned to see his brother. His brother who was in pain. Sam turned back to the older man. "L-let's go. So-somewhere we can…"

Joe nodded furiously, immediately releasing Sam from the pressure of being pushed into the wall and lifted him, the boy's legs still wrapped around his waist. Half-delirious on the adrenaline, he turned to the demon. "Keep watch over Dean for me. I wanna keep him here."

Before the demon could respond Joe was already stumbling out of the room, Sam tight in his clutches.

Dean screamed until his throat burned. His baby brother, taken _again_, this time by some fucking _Joe. _Tears ruined his vision, but that didn't stop him from hitting his head hard against the wall behind him, roaring in agony. So what if he sounded weak? That fucking _pervert bastard whore dead fucker _took his _brother. _Dean had been so convinced he could get Joe to take _him _instead, that his usual acts of persuasion would work on males too, but…but that _asshole. _He took Sam, took his only brother, his already _damaged _brother.

The demon wasn't as arrogant and bitchy and smug and fucking _infuriating _as usual, and just slid silently along the wall across from Dean, vigil. He didn't look particularly happy doing guard duty, but neither did it look like he was going to save Dean anytime soon, or at all for that matter. Dean grit his teeth, ignoring the pain at the way the chains grated against his flesh. Sam was gone, _gone, _and any physical pain was so trivial compared to that.

_0o0o0o0_

A now naked Sam was laid out flat on his back, the harsh memories of rough fucks into the mattress once again rushing back to him as Joe immediately pounced on top of him, expression lustful and greedy.

"God, Sammy, you're so fucking sexy," he purred, tracing one of Sam's long scars running down his chest. "And these scars just make you even sexier." He grinned, removing his hand and suddenly flipping Sam over, bringing the boy to rest on his knees. Unsure of what he should be doing or how Joe liked it, Sam began to lean back only to be forcefully pushed forward, his face pressed flush against the sheets. He gasped, heaving for oxygen.

Joe was positioned behind him, and he grabbed Sam's hands, bringing them and guiding them to his own, uplifted ass. Joe put the fingers near his entrance, pushing the cheeks apart. "Hold your hands there, Sammy. Don't move."

Sam gulped as Joe released his hands, his face red with shame as he kept himself open and inviting for the man. He heard shuffling behind him and gasped loudly as he felt something wet brush against his entrance. A tongue? His hands trembled, tears blurred his vision, and he barely resisted the intrinsic urge to push Joe away_. _It was so tempting…

But that wouldn't save Dean, would it?

After a few more licks and wet plunges into his entrance, the tongue was removed and Joe greedily seized the boy's hips, his fingers digging harshly into the soft flesh. Sam could only grunt as Joe immediately thrust into the welcoming heat, moaning his name.

_0o0o0o0_

Dean didn't know how long he'd been sitting chained to the wall, how long he'd been waiting for his brother to come through that door and laugh at him for worrying so fucking much, tell Dean he was just fine with dignity and self-worth intact. And not _Sam's_ definition of fine, which easily consisted of broken bones, a concussion, and a collapsed lung.

Dean turned his gaze to the demon, who had been sitting so fucking calm the whole _fucking _time, just watching Dean's angry hysterics and tearful outbursts with indifference and maybe a little curiosity.

"Where's my dad?" Dean asked, his dull eyes watching the demon. He'd worn himself out, screaming and pulling against his chains long enough to leave thin, red lines along his wrists and ankles. They hurt, but it was a pain he didn't acknowledge.

The demon looked at him in surprise, smirking. "Finally noticed I wasn't using Daddy as a pretty puppet?" Dean had noticed the moment he saw the bastard, but he had neither the energy nor the care to correct him. The demon's face grew somber, starkly contrasting his usual arrogance. "Joe let your father go a while back." He shrugged, like it was the dumbest idea he'd ever heard but didn't care otherwise. "Decided he didn't want anyone except you and Sam."

Dean looked at him drearily. "Why would he want me?" _When he can just brutally use my baby brother instead?_

"He wants to give little Sammy a reason to continue having sex with him." He smirked then. "Basically, if your bro suddenly gets rebellious and tries to escape, he's got you to fall back on as incentive for Sammy to keep fucking at his finest."

_0o0o0o0_

The thrusts were getting faster, deeper, and Sam had long ago seen these as the telltale signs of nearing climax. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, enduring the brutal pain resonating inside him. His hands were still clinging to his own ass, his body arched so that it jutted out, into the air.

The thrusts continued, but he was surprised when Joe gradually slowed down until, after another moment, stopped altogether. He was panting heavily, and he pulled out, his large hands seized Sam's shoulders and jerking them around, heaving the boy onto his back.

Sam's eyes widened, cringing at the maniacal grin blatant on Joe's face. The older man held tightly onto his own dick, disallowing climax, and crawled up Sam's legs and stopped above his torso. Sam's body shuddered violently, his stomach rumbling in apprehension.

The grin never left Joe's face, his fingers still firm around his cock. "I thought we'd try something a little more fun, pretty Sammy," he chuckled. "I wonder if Larry ever did this to ya," he said as he scooted closer, until he was directly in front of Sam's face.

He released his grip, only having to stroke himself a few more times before he groaned headily, expression displaying pure ecstasy as cum spurted from his dick.

Sam could only watch in horror as it splattered messily onto his face and hair, the white clumps of seed plastered on him like a second layer of skin.

Joe cackled deafeningly, throwing his head back as his face turned red from laughter. "Ah, Sammy, you should have seen the _look on your face _when I sprayed you_. _It was _so _fucking priceless."

Sam could only sit there, dumbfounded. Hesitantly, the limb shaking, he brought a hand to his cheek, staring at the now sticky substance coating his fingers.

Sam's eyes began to swell with tears.

He felt so overwhelmed; he felt so _humiliated._

After his laughter finally died down, Joe jumped off the bed, gathering his clothes and putting them on. "Clean yourself up, pretty boy." He looked up from sliding on his boxers, gaze thoughtful as he smirked at Sam. "That is, if you want to. I think you look maddening sexy the way you are now, with my seed all over you, but you can do whatever you want." As if unable to resist the site of the naked, sticky boy, he grabbed Sam's chin roughly and planted a hard kiss on the boy's pink lips. "Mm," he said when he released him, "I love the taste of me inside you."

Joe's smirk widened, the boy not seeming to realize that cum had fallen into his open mouth.

"Alright, well I'll see you outside," he said before heading for the exit. His voice grew more stern. "You've got two minutes."

The door closed, and Sam immediately threw his head over the side of the bed, vomiting up food and cum.

_0o0o0o0_

Dean twitched violently at the demon's cruel words, tears blurring his vision. And _damn _if he wasn't crying all the _fucking_ time these days.

"W—," Dean swallowed, his voice hoarse. "W-why are you doing this? Why are y-you working for Joe?" His eyebrows crunched in malicious consideration. "What's in it for you?"

The demon watched him for a long moment. That attitude that pissed Dean off so much lit up in his face, and Dean realized that, if the demon _did _tell him the truth, it'd be because he knew Dean couldn't escape, couldn't do anything with the information anyway.

The demon smirked, looking at Dean with an odd twinkle in his eyes, "Why, Sammy, of course."

Dean's eyebrows furrowed. "Wha…" He did a double take. "What?"

"I've been watching your brother for a long time," the demon continued, enjoying the horrified expression on Dean's face. Fucking priceless. "He'll be able to put a few things in motion for me, but I need to make sure he's strong enough for the task. As such, I'm using Joe as a…test of sorts, as I did before, with Larry."

Dean pushed forcefully against his chains, the manacles crushing against his wrists. His face was blood red in anger, veins sticking out like thick cords. "You mean_ you_ made these perverts do this to him? Goddamn it, it was _you?_"

The demon shook his head, his smirk wide and amused as he put his hands up in front of him, shaking them for emphasis. "No no no, I just helped them…expedite their plans a bit. It wasn't me that made them so attracted to Sammy, that was _all_ him. Maybe if little brother wasn't so slutty people like Larry and Joe wouldn't try it on him all the time."

Dean growled and pulled harder at his chains. "If your implying my brother did _anything _to deserve this, I swear—."

The demon shrugged casually. "Had to have done something."

"You _bastard_—."

Just then the door was opened, and Joe entered the long room, hair disheveled and fully clothed. His cheeks were red with exertion and he was breathing audibly, catching his breath.

Joe turned to Dean, grinning wickedly, and Dean jerked his head away from the sight, his gaze focused solely on the dirty tile below his left foot. The tile began to melt into others as his vision grew hazy, but he was obstinate in keeping his gaze frozen and in place. He didn't want to see Joe, see his own worst nightmare in the flesh. It was too much.

But Joe seemed to have other ideas, dropping onto his knees in front of Dean and grabbing his chin, jerking it to face him. Dean cringed as he smiled carnally, licking his lips. "You won't _believe _what amazing sex I just had."

"You're disgusting," Dean spat, his nose scrunching in repugnance and horror at the distinct smells radiating from Joe's body.

Joe laughed, his hand still holding Dean firmly in place. "If I'm disgusting then what is Sammy?"

Dean went to speak, but Joe shushed him. "Maybe we should have a threesome, get to know each other better," he mused. "That'd be a lot of fun, yeah?"

Dean sneered, "You're just a sick fucking pervert that can't keep his lust to himself."

"You know, for someone that's being so judgmental right now, you sure were vibrantly throwing yourself at me not too long ago." Joe waggled his eyebrows.

Dean snarled. "I was trying to get you away from my _brother."_

Joe shook his head. "No no, I know for a fact that you're interested in me, if your previous actions are any indication. You want some of this, too, don't you?" He shrugged. "It's okay, I don't judge you as you judge me. I'm nice like that."

Dean jerked on the chains holding him in place, the viscous liquid dripping down his wrists going unnoticed. He didn't have time for something as insignificant as _pain_ when his baby brother was in trouble.

And maybe even lost forever in a nightmare that didn't end.

One hand still holding Dean in place, Joe glanced at the watch on his wrist. Dean's breath caught in his throat as the door suddenly opened, and Sam, clad in only boxers, was dragged through the door, his knees scraping against the coarse floor as he was brought to kneel before Joe.

Joe grinned. "There's my boy," he said as he gripped the boy's thin shoulders, maneuvering Sam safely into his lap.

Dean gulped as he analyzed Sam's sullen expression. His face was bright red, its appearance almost like a carpet burn. Had he rubbed his face too hard?

Dean let out a loud hiss, and Joe shook his head. "Already complaining and we haven't even started yet."

The man that had brought Sam in was older, wrinkled eyes wide with terror as he waited for Joe's next orders. With the genuine fear in his eyes Dean couldn't help but think he'd been threatened to do Joe's dirty work. Just another innocent bystander used to get what Joe wanted.

Joe glanced at the man fleetingly before turning to the demon. "Just kill him."

The older man's eyes went wide before the demon's hand lifted and death warmed over the man in an instant, his body hitting the ground in a cold heap.

Both Winchesters twitched, horrified. Joe turned back to them, sporting a pondering gaze as he petted Sam's dark locks. "As I was saying, I think I've decided I _do _want to carry out my idea of a threesome. In some aspect, at least." Joe laughed to himself. "It'll be a threesome, per say, but only two will be in the main act."

Sam stiffened in his arms, having not been made aware of this before, and sent his brother a fearful, uncertain gaze.

Dean swallowed, trying to look reassuring for his baby brother, he who needed it now more than ever.

Joe grabbed a strand of Sam's hair, bringing it up to his mouth. He bit it, Dean's face distorting in disgust as he saw a flash of tongue. After a few moments, he turned Sam's head to crush his lips against Sam's, ravaging the boy's mouth. Joe smirked into the kiss, and when he released Sam he kept their faces mere inches apart, both breathing heavily. He whispered into Sam's mouth, and Dean could only catch, "Still taste like me." Dean shuddered.

Joe released his grip on Sam's hair and put his hands on the boy's hips, pushing him onto the floor near Dean. "You will do as I say, yes?"

Hesitant, Sam said nothing. But, after flashing a look in Dean's direction, his will seemed to have been rejuvenated, and he nodded.

Joe nodded in satisfaction. "Alright. Kiss him. On the mouth."

Sam spun around to face Joe now, his mouth opening and closing in shock.

Joe lifted a hand above his head and slammed it onto Sam's cheek. "You will _not _question my authority. Understood?"

Sam put a hand to his cheek, nodding.

"Now go kiss him," Joe said before adding, "And make it messy. You don't want me dissatisfied."

Sam swallowed, getting onto his hands and knees and crawling toward Dean's frozen state, his eyes wide and hands still chained and unmoving.

Without thought, Sam pressed his lips flush against Dean's, pushing his tongue against Dean's lips for entrance.

Dean seems to gag at his brother's taste, fighting the urge to turn away and throw up from the mysterious flavor.

He acutely ignored the taste, instead focusing on making this already horrible situation easier on his baby brother.

Dean opened his mouth for Sam in understanding, both willingly deepening the kiss, and Sam swallowed his sigh of relief.

It was hard, kissing his brother, even harder knowing your tongue was floating around in his it was for that same brother that Sam was doing this, once again shedding his dignity to keep Dean safe.

And that's what made it so damn worth it.

Sam forgot the humiliation he'd felt when Joe's oppressive seed drenched his skin, instead focusing on making this horrible situation easier for his brother. He allowed Dean a moment of reprieve, moving to bite at the older man's bottom lip.

Joe's purr of approval could be heard from behind them as he ordered huskily, "Straddle his hips."

Without breaking the kiss, Sam did so, lifting one leg over both of Dean's until his knees were pressed against the wall and their crotches were uncomfortably close together.

Sam's lungs were screaming at him to break the kiss, to fucking _breathe, _and he quickly removed his lips from Dean's, their faces inches apart, both loudly pulling in much-needed oxygen.

"Take off Dean's shackles," they heard Joe say to the demon, the man's voice sounding desperate and eager.

A moment later, Dean's hands were freed and the next order was produced. "Play with each other." His voice darkened. "Don't disappoint me. I don't like any G-rated shit."

Knowing Dean would be more uncomfortable having sexual relations with a male, something Sam has had far too much experience with, Sam made the first move, lips making a trail down the man's neck. Dean made a show of groaning in pleasure, arching his neck back.

After several moments, Sam released his mouth, pulling Dean's shirt off before lightly playing with a nipple, pinching it hard. Dean hissed before Sam resumed his previous ministrations, pressing his lips securely to Dean's neck, sucking at the flesh.

Dean knew he had to interact, to do _something_; he couldn't let his brother take the brunt of the burden. But what if Dean's touches just hurt Sammy more?

"Get _on _with it already," they heard Joe hiss.

Decision made, Dean warily brought his arms around Sam's thin body to rest his hands on the kid's ass, hesitantly squeezing lightly. Sam didn't outwardly respond, instead releasing Dean's nipples as he moved his own hands to rest over Dean's, pushing them further onto his own boxer-clad ass.

Sam writhed his body into the larger hands, sweating and panting, fucking groaning just to make it believable to Joe that they really were fucking into this kind of shit.

Sam continued panting, resting his head on Dean's strong shoulder as he lunged into the hands, ignoring all the unwanted sensations that came with the act.

A tear fell down Dean's cheek; it hurt like he couldn't believe to know he was doing this to his brother, his brother who, by all means, should never have had to deal with this again. What if the only way to save him was to quite possibly have sex with him? And even then, who was to say Joe and the fucking demon wouldn't just want to keep them anyway?

Sam pressed his palm firmly against Dean's crotch, bringing Dean abruptly out of his reverie. Sam eyed him apologetically, gaze filled with pain and regret, and Dean wanted to slap himself. Sam had just been raped, _raped,_ not ten minutes ago by fucking _Joe, _and here he was trying to make _him _feel better?

Oh, fuck no.

Dean released his grip on Sam's ass and pressed his hands heavily onto Sam's chest, pushing him down onto his back until Dean towered over him, their bodies flush together from chest to feet. He resumed the heated kiss from before, ignoring the tangy taste as his tongue intertwined with Sam's.

"God, yes, _yes," _they heard Joe pant in ecstasy, the man watching the spectacle with underwear at his ankles and hand clenched around his hardened member.

Dean trembled as he rubbed against Sam's body, their bare chests causing endless friction. Dean brought a hand up to lightly brush Sam's dark hair from his forehead, while the other went to rest on Sam's arm, his finger tracing the lengthy scar starting at Sam's wrist.

This time it was Sam who brought his hands up to cup Dean's ass, his palms resting lightly and hesitantly on the jeans pockets. The kid seemed uncertain, as if scared he'd break Dean if he pushed too hard.

And it hurt. Sam didn't think Dean could handle it because he'd never gone through sexual activities that he didn't want to have; he'd never been _raped._

Maybe Sam had a right to question him, though. After all, Sam was never one to patronize a person; he was damn well too kind for that. Sam knew what it was like, knew how damaging it felt to go through something so horrible, so he was just trying to save Dean from that harsh reality. Sam just wanted to keep his brother safe, in the dark. Ignorant.

Ignorant of his own pain, as well.

Dean growled at the thought but, before he could do anything more, a gunshot was heard from another room, echoing loudly through the long chamber. Both of the Winchester's heads jerked to the direction of the sound, gaze instantly on the wooden door where Sam had been dragged from. Dean's heart pounded in his chest, the anticipation making his heart heavy. If their dad had been let go, no longer used by the demon as a host, then…could that be him?

Their shared, unspoken question was soon answered as the door was heaved open in a flurry, John Winchester's angry, devilish gaze landing on the two boys, one on top of the other.

Both boy's cheeks were colored with exertion, skin engulfed in each other's sweat, hands still frozen on body parts brothers wouldn't usually be investigating, and it didn't take long for John's face to contort with unadulterated fury, his mouth morphing into a chaotic, enraged contortion as he turned toward Joe, whose hand was still on his swollen member.

Joe removed his hand, feeling his mind fill with both fear and anger. "Who the _fuck _do you think you are?" the man said, fury in his gaze as he stared at John. He reached into his pocket hurriedly, but before he'd gotten a grip around his weapon a bullet was lodged into his arm. Joe let out a squeal of pain, his other hand immediately thrown over the welling blood. Another gunshot went off, and Joe fell to his knees with a scream as it whizzed through his thigh, red liquid spurting wildly from the wound.

Dean and Sam had separated by now, both now kneeling side-by-side and avoiding any physical contact. It was then Dean realized the demon was gone, wasn't where he'd seen him last, and Dean looked up to see the other, more antique gun in John's hand, the weapon held in a tight grasp.

The Colt.

As it dawned on him, Dean's mouth transformed into a smile, looking at his dad with exhilaration he'd never felt before. To his surprise, a gruff but genuine laugh escaped him, his white teeth gleaming beneath the low-lighted ceiling.

The feeling of elated eagerness continued to flood through him, but he said nothing as Joe got to his feet, seething. "You think you can just take what's mine, huh? You think you can just _take_ Sammy away from his rightful owner?"

The smile on Dean's face was ripped off like it was never there, and he got to his feet to stand beside Joe. In one fluid motion, he cocked his arm back and punched the bastard hard in the jaw, relishing in the crack of bone and the man's cry of pain as he was knocked back onto the floor. "You _fucking_ bastard." Dean knew he wanted to say something more, wanted to say how Sam didn't belong to him, how much of a sick son of a bitch he was, how he'd fucking love to see him rot in hell.

But Dean was passed words now as Joe spoke, smirking through clenched teeth despite his injuries, "Sam will always belong to me. He knows that, don't you Sammy?" he asked turning his gaze to the kneeling boy for a moment before looking back to the seething older brother. "I have permanently left my mark inside that boy, and there's nothing he or anyone else can do to change that."

Before Dean's fist could make contact again, John raised the hand holding his usual shotgun, blasting it through the man's chest.

"Serves you right, fucker," Dean heard John mutter, eyes watery, watching as the man's body collided with the hard floor.

For a few seconds, everyone was still as they all stared at the corpse. Dean didn't feel one ounce of pity, knew he probably should have. It _was _a human, after all.

But, then again, what defined a human? By anyone's standards, this man would be seen as nothing but a fucking monster. Dean's eyes traced Joe's body, the body that had moments ago been so lively and animated as he watched Dean and Sam's cruel performance.

To Dean's surprise, his eyes began glistening with tears of joy. Joe was dead. He was _dead. _Sammy was finally safe from both him and the demon; they could finally live in peace, put all this behind them.

Right?

Without warning, Dean fell to his knees and vomited, what little food he had in his stomach now splattered haphazardly onto the gray floor.

He was so stupid. So so _fucking _stupid. How could he possibly think they could ever overlook this? Give it a few days then say it never happened, that everything was just peachy on the Winchester wagon?

Dean unconsciously let out a mewl of pain. Sammy…Sammy, his baby brother, brutally raped. _Again._ And worse yet, he'd had to play with Dean, too. Because Dean couldn't _protect _him.

What kind of brother was he to allow this to continue happening? Dean's eyes glinted with something far from joy now, his body shivering and mouth pursed. There was a weird taste in his mouth, not from the vomit, and his nerves felt hypersensitive, and he felt horribly violated. It was as though the full control he'd thought he had over his body was merely a show, that his body recognized that what he'd done with Sam wasn't something he'd wanted, wasn't something he'd wanted to consent to.

It…it felt like he was dying.

Dean swallowed an aggrieved moan. Was this how Sam felt?

If so, then Dean didn't know how his baby brother had survived it. After all, Dean had only gotten the smallest of portions of what rape felt like and, even then, it had been for his brother, it had been with a _purpose. _To keep them both safe, and Dean would make that decision time and time again if it meant protecting Sam.

But what had happened to Sam…no, that was so fucking different. That wasn't for the greater good, to protect a loved one; it was being used and degraded for someone else's disgusting pleasure. Sam didn't have a choice.

Dean threw up again.

A thin hand was soothing his bare back, lighting rubbing circles into the tense muscles. Dean turned to see Sam kneeling beside him, a small smile on his features. Dean only cried more, putting a hand to the back of the boy's neck and bringing their foreheads to press together, the tips of their noses barely touching.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, voice hoarse. "I'm so fucking sorry."

Sam's eyes were the most beautiful blue-green Dean had ever seen, and he was thoroughly convinced he could look into their depths forever.

"Please," Sam barely whispered, "please, don't say that."

Dean's mouth tightened and he tried to keep the sobs at bay. Of course Sammy wouldn't accept his apologies. The only blame Sam would place is on himself.

John knelt down beside the two boys, his cheeks overflowing with spilt tears. "I think we best get out of here."

Reluctantly, Dean nodded and released his grip on his brother's neck. Standing up, he took Sam's hand, pulling the boy easily to his feet.

Sam's hand felt cold to the touch, and Dean instantly took a survey of the room. Not finding what he was looking for, he turned back to his brother. "Hey, Sammy, where are your clothes?"

Sam turned his head to the open door where John had burst through. "Back in the bedroom."

Dean took a step forward in pursuit before a restraining hand grabbed his wrist, gently pulling him back.

"Maybe…" Sam began, licking his lips. "Maybe I should go alone. It'll only be a moment."

Dean shook his head fervently. "Hell no. I'm not letting you out of my sight." _Never fucking again._

Sam shifted on his feet, looking like he wanted to say more. After an awkward moment, he finally nodded, waiting for Dean to pick up his own shirt before leading him and John through the wooden door. They took a short moment to gratefully admire the dead demon in the middle of the hall, a bullet hole distinctly driven into his forehead. Sam grinned lightly. John's accuracy was as good as ever.

Stepping gracefully over the body, Sam led them down a short hall to stand before the room he'd once again fallen from grace.

Opening the door, a stench was released from the room that even Sam scrunched his nose to. The aftermaths of fucking were always particularly gruesome, in his opinion.

Sam walked into the dark room and quickly gathered his clothes, which Joe had very hastily thrown off his body while in the deep throes of ecstasy. Pulling his legs through his jeans, Sam turned to notice Dean and John still standing at the entrance of the room, staring with wide, disbelieving and, most prominently, vehement eyes, the intensity of their gazes unnerving as they eyed the disheveled bed sheets and telling liquids spread across the bed.

Sam cleared his throat, hoping the two would get out of their reveries. He just wanted this behind him.

Dean locked eyes with Sam, and his mouth trembled, his lips dry. "Sammy…" His voice was husky and gruff, and, at that point, Sam wished he could physically wipe that pitying look off Dean's face.

Sam threw on his shirt, merely tossing the hoody over his shoulder as he walked back to stand before his family, blocking their view of the bed.

Numbly, John took a step forward, raising a shaking hand in Sam's direction. He hesitantly pulled the boy's collar down, revealing the inflamed bite mark. John's lips began to tremble fiercely. "I…I…" John gulped, blinking hard. "I did this?"

Dean stepped in. "No, Dad, it wasn't you; it was that damn demon. You had no control."

John didn't seem too certain, but allowed a small nod.

As much as Sam wanted to reassure their father, as well, he was getting itchy staying in this room longer than necessary. It almost felt blasphemous, standing with his family in the same room he'd gotten fucked in.

"Shall we?" Sam asked, trying to conceal his eagerness.

Dully, the two nodded, John leading them all to the exit, lost in thought.

XxXxXxXxXx

They all filed into the motel room, each Winchester silent with the memories of hideous occurrences haunting their every step.

Dean plopped onto the tarnished, discolored sofa, exhaling as he hunched his back, his head in his hands.

Sam sat down more gingerly beside his brother, slightly wincing as his sore ass made contact with the lumpy cushion.

He licked his lips, wondering if there were any words of comfort he could offer Dean. The man was suffering, and it brought a terrible ache to Sam's heart knowing that he was the cause. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, Sam resorted to rubbing Dean's back, hoping to sooth some of the man's stiffness.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, Dean took his head from his hands, turning to catch Sam's eye, smiling at him when he did.

Having fully unpacked the weapons, John went to sit beside Sam, and the boy squishing further against Dean to give his father space to sit. Taking the offer he sat, all three Winchesters packed on a two-seater sofa. None seemed to mind, though, content to finally, at last, rest.

In the hopes of easing some of the discomfort situated firmly in his backside, Sam slouched in his seat, legs laid out limply in front of him. He threw a glance briefly to his right and, if he tilted his head _just so_, it could come to rest lightly on his father's strong shoulder.

Not allowing himself to give in to the weakness he stayed put, fiddling with a hole in the thigh of his jeans.

Dean's face was now pulled tight and taut, and Sam wondered when he was going to speak whatever was on his mind.

Soon enough, Dean was turning fully to his brother, his gaze cautious and uncertain. "Sammy, c-can I…May I ask you a question?" Anger was still fluttering on the surface of Dean's voice and in the depths of his eyes, and Sam was now certain which topic Dean had picked.

"Anything," he said without hesitation.

"Was he…was Joe talking about a-anything in particular when he said…that he m-marked you?"

"He came inside me. Isn't that marking enough?" Sam looked away immediately after the words left his mouth, hating himself for putting these things so bluntly. He should've been more considerate, kept everything in the children's version.

Dean flinched, and Sam tried to retract the damage, his voice imploring. "But it was only once, Dean, and it wasn't even that painful. Joe's dick was nearly half the size of my pinky finger," he said, aiming for humor. Unfortunately, that had been not the case at all, but that was hardly something Dean or his father deserved to know.

Despite his—or what he thought was—humorous statement, Sam's smile slid off his face as Dean's own grew redder, more furious.

"What'd I say?" Sam asked hesitantly, almost afraid as Dean's face turned a darker shade and his hands clenched tightly on the sofa cushions. "Dean, what's wrong? Please, I don't understand."

Dean shook his head, finally taking a deep, long breath, hopefully expelling most of his anger with it. "I, I just…" He shook his head again, mouth pursed, portraying both furious anger and bitter melancholy. "I just can't fucking believe it. I let…_it _happen to you again."Dean leaned back against the sofa with a hand over his face.

Self-conscious of his own faults now, Sam awkwardly patted Dean's knee, unsure. "You did nothing wrong, Dean; none of this is your fault."

Dean snorted, but said nothing, drowning in his self-ridicule.

Sam held in a sad sigh. "Dean…"

Dean didn't look up or show he was being attentive to Sam's near plea. Instead, he brought his other hand to cover his face, trapped in his mind.

Sam gave up the effort, and soon the silence once again permeated through the room, awkward and uncomfortable for the youngest Winchester.

It wasn't long until fatigue took hold on Sam's small physique. It had been a while since he'd gotten fucked, and this one had taken out a lot of his stamina. After all, Dean's life had been at the mercy of how good a fuck Joe deemed it.

Sam's eyes began slowly drooping shut and, after numerous failed attempts at opening them, his head unwillingly found it's way to his father's shoulder, resting against the warm leather of his jacket.

More than pleasantly surprised, John beamed as he wrapped his arm comfortably around Sam's thin shoulders, gently drawing him close.

Dean's hands were now resting limply on the sofa cushions, his mouth still drawn in a frown. After brief contemplation, Sam lifted his legs from the floor and placed them firmly on Dean's thighs, abruptly breaking the man out of his dark reverie.

Sam lifted a foot pointedly. "Massage. Now."

Dean stared at Sam a moment, his distracted mind taking time to process the simple demand. Sam watched approvingly as Dean's eyes suddenly lightened and, after another second, he laughed, his teeth gleaming white. It wasn't some bullshit, half-hearted, ridiculously fake laugh, and Sam's heart jumped at the unexpected sound, pleased to know he'd been the one to instigate it.

Dean only shook his head, still smirking as he worked Sam's shoes off. "Crazy kid. I swear, gonna be the death of me someday."  
>Sam only smiled in return, lazily closing his eyes. Maybe they'd deal just fine, after all.<p>

**2 Weeks Later**

"Up, Up, Sammy," Dean said, tapping at the bare foot hanging off the side of the bed. He absently looked up, his gaze trailing to Sam's arms, which were leaning against the headboard as the rest of him was piled beneath the covers. Dean shook away his darkening mood, instead lightly hitting the lump under the thin sheets. Sam let out a small squeak, moving his arms down to pull the covers more tightly around him. Several strands of brown hair were splayed across the pillow, sticking out from beneath the sheets, and Sam scooted to the other side of the bed, away from his brother's reach.

Dean's mouth twisted into a small frown. He knew Sam was playing around, avoiding Dean out of jest, but still he regretted deliberately disturbing Sam's sleep; this was one of the few occurrences where Sam had been able to sleep through the entire night, nightmare-free and painless. But Sam had requested they get up early today, ready to venture out into the world.

Dean's thoughts strayed as he contemplated the day ahead of them. It'd be hard, but maybe it'd turn out for the better. After another moment of consideration, Dean lifted his hand, playfully ruffling Sam's hair before getting a tight grip on the top of the covers and _heaving._

The sheets fell off Sam's body in a rush, and he yelped as the cold air hit him in full force, his body only clad in boxers and a thin undershirt. "Damn, Dean," he said, shivering. After a moment of recuperation, he slung his legs over the edge of the bed, absently glancing at the clock. "Seven in the morning," Sam groaned lightly. "What an ungodly hour."

Dean only smiled, knowing better than to think such an early hour was unfamiliar to Sam. "It was your idea, little brother."

Sam smiled at Dean, his eyes betraying how nervous he was. "Yeah, I know." Getting to his feet, he yawned, stretching his arms over his head. "But it needs to be done."

Dean implicitly disagreed, had said as much before, but remained silent as Sam took the few steps to his duffel bag and went shuffling for clothes.

The boxers Sam was wearing were beginning to slide precariously down his hips, and Sam seized the waistband before they'd managed to fall altogether.

Dean frowned, recognizing this to be something Sam has had to do quite frequently since escaping Larry. The kid had yet to gain back the weight he'd lost and, at this rate, with his brother still eating so little, Dean wasn't expecting any miracles.

Which, of course, was why they were going shopping.

Dressing in a pair of baggy jeans and a thin t-shirt, Sam threw his dirty shirt into the pile in the corner of the room, the area gradually accumulating more and more of Sam's clothes.

And that was something that bothered Dean, too. It was as if Sam's experience with Larry had changed his genetic wiring entirely. Sam wasn't as curious, was even more reserved in speech, way _less_ shy with his body, more skeptical and observant of others, carelessly threw things to the ground when he used to clean up after himself fucking _immaculately._

But, Dean conceded, there were a lot of worse things that could've changed in his brother, things that just thinking about made Dean's skin crawl. Considering everything Sammy's been through, he pulled through with flying colors and booming fireworks. Sure, he still didn't eat much, and consequently needed a whole new wardrobe, but still…

Dean smiled with light amusement. Sam noticed this, an eyebrow rising, but Dean just shook his head. "Ready, kid?"

Sam let it go, bouncing on one foot as he slid on a sock. "Two seconds."

"I'm gonna hold you to that," Dean said, eyeing his watch.

Two seconds later with only two socks and a shoe on Sam's feet, Dean rushed the kid, picking him up and tossing him onto the bed. Dean snatched the shoe off the floor, grabbed Sam's foot, and put it on himself.

Sam watched him with amusement. "Now that you're there, you wanna tie it, too?"

Dean headed for the door. "No."

Sam huffed, tying it himself before heading after Dean.

John was waiting in the kitchen, a hot cup of coffee in his hand, and he watched as his two boys arrived in the small room. Draining the last of the coffee, he put the cup in the sink, turning to Sam and Dean. "We ready?"

Both nodded, and the three headed out for an adventure.

XxXxXxXxXxX

"Here, try these on," Dean said, handing Sam a pair of jeans before shoeing him back into the dressing room. Sam huffed in response, courteous enough to shut the door this time as he undressed.

Dean rubbed a calloused hand over his mouth as he sat beside John in one of the small chairs provided. Walking into the mall had been treacherously difficult. Why ordinary people saw this as some sort of haven he had _no _idea, but it was certainly nothing but Winchester hell.

The place was ridiculously crowded, people milling about in wild search for sales and the latest trends. They'd pushed and shoved at the innocent bystanders deemed as obstacles, and Sam had had a mild panic attack when someone unintentionally brushed a hand across his backside.

But that had been the worst of it, thankfully, and they were finally getting down to the main purpose of coming here: new clothes for Sammy.

Sam opened the door, stepping out of the room to allow his audience of two to inspect the outfit. The shirt was a green and white flannel, not even a full size too big, and the jeans were dark, nearly black in color.  
>Dean made a <em>hmm <em>sound, putting his thumb and forefinger to his chin in mock consideration. After a moment of solemnity, he nodded, "Not bad at all; I approve."

Sam's eyebrow twitched, but said nothing as he turned to John.

John nodded in agreement, giving a thumbs-up.

Sam nodded with a faint, unenthused, "Awesome" before turning back into the dressing room. Before he could close the door, Dean threw a hand between the space, holding out another pair of jeans.

Sam opened the door fully and leaned on it, his expression exasperated. "Dean, I've tried on nearly this entire store."

Dean gave him an impish look. "I dunno, Sammy, I sure saw a lot of dresses back there. We could have you try those on too if you'd like."

Sam flushed furiously, his expression not at all the amused yet annoyed look Dean had been seemed more somber, sad.

"I…" Sam looked away, down at his shoes. "I'd rather not if you don't mind."

Dean felt dizzy, and he temporarily wondered if his lunch was going to make an appearance in the very near future. Why was Sam reacting like this?

Had Larry made his baby brother wear dresses?

John no longer acted as a bystander, walking to stand beside his youngest. Lightly and gently, like handling a fragile butterfly, he lifted Sam's face to meet his own. "Sammy," he started, licking his lips, trying to remain composed. "Is there something you want to talk about?"

Sam's eyes gazed deep into his father's, and his bottom lip trembled lightly. John looked so willing, so loving, that the confession almost spilled from Sam's mouth without his consent.

But no, they couldn't know, couldn't know he was even more disgusting than they'd suspected, so he shook his head, his voice barely audible as he whispered a small, "No."

After a long, tense moment, John reluctantly nodded. "Alright, son." John let go of Sam's chin, and the boy immediately looked away, instead taking the jeans from Dean's lax hand.

Dean shook his head, still shaking from Sam's previous reaction to his comment. "No, don't worry about it, Sammy—."

Sam shook his head sternly, taking the jeans and disappearing behind the door. Dean and John's gazes met, eyes blazing, speaking volumes of the shock and grief they both shared

After another moment, Sam emerged from the dressing room, his hand gripping the waistband of the jeans.

"I don't think these are going to work," Sam said, trying to sound amused as he tugged at the waistband, several inches of space between the denim and his hip. The still haunted look he carried ruined the effect, though, and Dean's face further contorted in guilt.

"I'm in full agreement," Dean said, trying to smile.

Sam toed a speck of dust on the floor. "Am I done now?" he asked timidly.

Dean nodded immediately. "Yeah, kid, you're done. Get back into your old clothes and we'll get out of here."

Sam nodded eagerly.

XxXxXxXxXxXx

John slung the finally paid-for bags of clothing over his shoulder, turning to see Sam and Dean standing side-by-side behind him, waiting for orders. With both boys accounted for, he searched for an exit.

Escape door finally in sight, he led his boys down the isle, barking out stern orders to bystanders when they didn't step aside or grant them a wide enough girth. John was still paranoid about giving his youngest personal space, knew he wasn't yet ready to be jostled into a huge crowd of people.

With that thought in mind, he shot another glance behind him, watching as Dean put a protective hand to Sam's back. Sam seemed nervous, his shoulders were hunched and his hair in his eyes. He was probably eager to be back in the small confines of their motel room, which only made John more determined to get them out of there. He quickened his pace, taking another glance to make sure his boys followed in suit.

A middle-aged man was standing directly in their path, and the place was too crowded for John to weave his family around him.

"Move," John said harshly when the man continued to stand there, merely staring at him. The man's gaze absently looked over John's shoulder to see Sam, and his eyebrows shot upward.

The man took several steps in Sam's direction. "Hey, kid, are you o—."

John put a firm hand on the man's chest before he could get any further. "He's fine, now go away," John commanded, pushing the man aside and continuing forward, not bothering to look back.

"Hey, buddy," John heard Dean growl out behind him, and he hastily turned to see Dean with a fistful of the man's shirt, his eyes menacing with Sam cringing behind him. "You got a problem?"

Dean asked, shaking the man by the collar.

The man whimpered, seemingly confused, and his gaze flickered from John and Dean then back to Sam. "Of course not. I just, I just…"

"_What?"_

The man gulped, shaking his head vigorously. His voice shrunk down to a whisper. "N-nothing."

Dean hissed in annoyance, throwing the man several feet away. "Then keep the _fuck _back."

The man nodded, near hysterics as he spun and swiftly turned a corner, out of sight.

A small crowd had stopped to watch the spectacle, and John quickly wrapped his fingers around Sam's bony wrist, hauling him to the exit.

As predicted, Dean wasn't a second behind them when John turned to glance back and soon they were outside and breathing their own air.

They clamored into the Impala, Dean's hand resting on Sam's back the entire time, hurrying him forward. He turned back to the mall's entrance one more time before sitting in the backseat with Sammy, John already revving up the car.

Time to get the fuck out of there.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Sam's lips pursed, his long fingers absently peeling at the crust on his sandwich. "I think we overreacted a bit," he admitted.

Dean rolled his eyes, just moments ago predicting his brother would say something like that. He shook his head, making sure Sam saw the movement before saying, "That man came at us with the intent of _touching _you," adding the emphasis as if it meant something crazy and senseless. Dean shrugged. "We were just being cautious."

"You two never used to be this easily upset about a harmless situation!"

John shook his head, taking a sip of Coca Cola before saying, "Your brother's right, Sam, we couldn't take any risks."

Sam was silent for a moment, his eyes locked on his already nibbled on sandwich. He tore off one side of the crust. "I think you're both paranoid." _I can take care of myself_, he wanted to say, but, could he really? Sam pouted sadly. Maybe he himself thought he could handle another human, but that didn't mean anything. Ever since Larry—and especially since Joe—Dean and his father have been suspicious and distrustful of anyone in sight. It wasn't a week ago that they'd gone to a local grocery store and contended with another "predator". Sam had been looking through the large variety of cereals when a man came up to him, asking for directions to the dairy isle. And what surprised Sam was that not even _once _had the man focused on Sam's scars and, at that moment, it'd made him so genuinely happy he wanted to cry.

But not a word had passed Sam's lips before Dean was shoving the man into the nearest wall, his fist caught tightly in the front of the man's shirt, accusations spilling from his mouth.

To say the man was shaken was an understatement, and Sam didn't doubt that the man at the mall today was just as terrified.

Sam sighed. "Listen, I appreciate your concern on my behalf, but I really don't think we should be accusing people on the groundless assumption that they're all rapists and murderers."

The corner of John's lips curved downward. "It's just a matter of protecting you, son. We can't take the chance of letting something happen to you."

Sam's mouth twitched, and his hands quivered. Incidentally, he tore the sandwich in his grasp completely in half. "I'm not defenseless, Dad," Sam said pointedly, his own irritation rising. Ever since Larry, he'd grown much more subdued in his anger. Everything just seemed so trivial in comparison to everything else he'd been through and was just pointless to show such strong emotions about.

So Sam surprised himself when he detected the level of frustration in his voice. If he had to admit it, it hurt to know his family had such little faith in him. It was as if there was no longer anything he could do himself and that someone always had to come to his rescue.

Dean seemed to notice Sam's uncharacteristic annoyance, and quickly stood, walking behind the small island in the middle of the kitchen to reach the refrigerator. "You want something with your sandwich, Sammy?" he asked, pulling out a Coke.

Sam looked down at the now crustless, ripped sandwich in his hands, putting the two pieces back on his plate. "No thanks, I'm not hungry," he said, sliding off the stool and walking out into the living room.

Dean and John migrated at nearly the same moment, and Sam couldn't help as the twitch of irritation increased. Did they think he'd be attacked in their own motel room? Like someone would burst through the walls and just start ripping his clothes off, fucking Sam right on the damn couch? What, did they think he was too defenseless and weak to stop it in time for his brother and father to get from the kitchen to the crime scene?

Sam sighed.

Both men sat on either side of him on the couch, and he beat down the urge to get up and walk away. Instead, he took his shirt off, the material becoming itchy and uncomfortable on his skin.

He tossed the shirt onto the rickety table in front of them, his torso bare. If they ever needed a reminder to protect little Sammy, his scars were sure as hell a good one.

Dean's mouth twitched. "Still not used to your clothes, Sammy?" he asked his voice laced with sorrow.

Sam shrugged. "It used to be worse."

Dean twitched. Used to. As in, back when he and John hadn't been there to protect Sam, had been left with freaking _strangers _to take care of him. "Maybe we can find some sort of moisturizer that will help."

"Maybe."

There was a moment of silence, and Dean nodded absently, just for something to do.

Licking his lips, Dean felt oddly nervous. He could tell Sam was unhappy, probably felt overindulged by the older Winchesters. But he had to make sure Sammy was safe, right?

Dean scratched awkwardly at the nape of his neck, feeling at a loss. Suddenly, he hung his head limp in front of him, sighing. "God, I wish this had never happened to you."

Sam snorted. "Not like I'm having a pleasurable time with it either."

Dean ran a hand over his face. "Sometimes I think that no other kind of torture could ever compare to…" He paused and swallowed. "Rape."

Sam turned to him incredulously. "Really? I can think of a few things worse than rape. Like being a fucking cripple."

Dean's expression looked horrified. "I'd rather you be a cripple than a rape victim any day of the fucking week."

Sam huffed dubiously. "Speak for your goddamn self. If you were sodomized by a huge-ass pole for an hour, then the next day you'd know how it feels to be a cripple. It ain't too damn fun." Sam muttered under his breath, "Not that I was allowed to move around much anyway. Except when I was taking it through the ass or entertaining him with slutty costumes."

Sam blinked, evidently not realizing until too late that his words had been audible for the other two Winchesters. He slapped himself on the forehead, guilt instantly seeping through him. "I'm sorry; I really, _really_ didn't mean to say that. That was completely out of line."

"No," Dean said promptly, though his color was a bit green. "It's okay, i-it's okay." His mouth puckered, and it looked like he was going to burst into tears at any moment like a ticking time bomb nearing detonation. His eyes were glazed, and his jaw was set tight to stop the coming onslaught.

"S-son." Sam turned to see John's just as pained expression, and the guilt Sam felt grew tenfold. How could he so easily allow himself to say those vulgar things? Dean and John hadn't been through what he had, leaving them ignorant of the warped, twisted mind Sam had adopted while Larry was using him.

John put a calloused hand on Sam's cheek, his thumb rubbing along his smooth jaw.

"I'm sorry, Dad," Sam said shamefully. "I didn't mean to."

"It's okay, Sammy, you did nothing wrong." John licked his lips, just as much a ticking time bomb as Dean right now. "I feel like your brother and I are…a-are widely ignorant of how much you went through...before." From behind, Dean put a strong hand on Sam's shoulder. "If you…if you w-want to…talk about it," John shivered, ignoring the tears building in his eyes. "W-we would really like to hear it."

Sam blinked, stupefied as he observed his father with wide eyes. He wanted to know what had happened to his youngest son? He wanted to hear all the gory, disgusting details of what that kinky fucker made him do? Should Sam allow his family to witness his pain so freely? What if it only caused them more pain? It would only shame Sam, bruise his self-confidence and plummet any credibility he had with his brother and father.

"We love you, Sammy. Despite what you think, we could never find you gross or unworthy." Startled, Sam spun around, finding Dean with a grim, yet heartwarming smile. "After all, you've always been your own biggest critic."

Dean's atypical verbal emotion stunned Sam into silence, and he could only gulp at the air in response. He sounded so genuine and sincere, so open to Sam's pain.

"I don't understand why you would want to listen to something so disgusting. Larry was a bigger pervert than you could imagine."

Dean's hand on Sam's shoulder tightened. "Help us realize. Help us understand your pain."

Sam put a hand to his eye, shaking his head. "You don't know what you're asking."

"You don't have to, Sam…" Dean looked down in thought. "In fact, you never have to. But…if you ever need someone to talk to, if you ever want to get this off your chest," Dean's smile grew more genuine, "Father and I will always be waiting for you on the sidelines."

With that, Dean stood, and John did the same, following his oldest back into the kitchen, leaving Sam to stew in his thoughts. The words were bouncing around in his head, echoing ever louder until it felt like he would burst. His family was…so inviting.

That night, Sam approached his brother and father, hesitantly nearing them as they watched television on the couch. They were always so good at bonding with each other; their relationship was so effortless, and Sam couldn't help the pang of envy that ran through him.

He shook off the thoughts, standing beside the edge of the sofa until the two Winchesters looked up.

Probably because of Sam's odd expression, both men stood, eyeing him with concern.

Dean spoke first. "Is everything okay, Sammy?" He put his hand to his forehead. "You look pale. Do you feel sick?"

Sam shooed away the hand. Swallowing, he removed the other hand from behind his back, producing an envelope.

Dean and John watched in obvious bewilderment as it was held out in front of them, and Dean took the white envelope, looking at it dubiously.

"The contents contain every detail of what Larry did to me while I was with him. I…" Sam looked away. "I don't want to be there when you…find out, when you realize all the things that I…" He spun on his feet and turned around, walking back to his room. "Do with it as you please." He closed the door behind him, not once looking back.

**2 hours later**

A knock resounded through Sam's room, and he turned his head in the direction of the source, a light knocking on the door. A request for permission to enter, obviously.

Sam nestled further into his covers on the bed. Should he act like he's asleep? Dean and John will probably lose the intensity of whatever emotions they had if he waited until morning to hear what they had to say. Maybe it'd be for the best if he just didn't respond.

So it surprised him when he called out a confident, if somewhat apprehensive, "Come in."

The door opened, revealing two red-faced Winchesters as they entered and closed the door quietly behind them. Their faces showed the remnants of tears and smeared snot, leaving a thin gleam on their otherwise flawless skin. Had they been tears of sorrow, or disgust?

"So, uhh…" Sam ran a shaky hand through his hair, attempting an amused chuckle. "Pretty gross, right?"

"Yeah," Dean agreed emotionlessly, and Sam flinched. So they were tears of disgust.

From his peripheral vision, Sam watched Dean cross the space between them and kneel in front of him on the bed, John standing behind him. Sam stole a peek at Dean's expression, shocked to see his eyes suddenly blazing, solemn and determined.

"What Larry did was really fucking sick, and I hope he's rotting in hell for it."

Sam twitched, looking away as a humorless grin spread across his mouth. "There have to be two people to have sex, Dean. It's not just him that would be rotting."

Dean shook his head fervently. "You're wrong, Sammy. How can you not see that? You did _nothing wrong_."

"Dean, I'm sixteen and have had more sex than people thrice my age. Not to mention sex that is _extremely _fucked up."

"What, and that's somehow _your _fault? You were chained to a bed against your will and forced to participate in actions you wanted no part of." Dean's hands were moving wildly to get his point across. "Sam, you're the _victim._"

Sam's gaze lowered, and he muttered darkly, "Yeah, well my body responded to it like it was having a blast."

"That's _not your fault," _Dean said, desperation leaking through his words.

John added to the conversation, speaking solemnly. "That's just the way the male anatomy works, Sam. It has nothing to do with whether or not you enjoyed it."

Sam said nothing, keeping his gaze on the wall behind the older Winchesters, and Dean sighed, fighting the tears. "Please, Sammy," he begged. "Don't throw all of this pain on your shoulders and not let us help you."

Sam looked directly to Dean and his father. "I want to get drunk."

Dean's mouth stopped mid-movement, and he blinked, the words slowing processing in his mind. He blinked again, now gaping at his little brother. "W-Wha…"

_What?_

"Uh…," he began astutely, eyeing Sam's expression carefully. "Do you, uh, do you really think that's a good idea, Sammy?"

Sam shrugged like it wasn't a big deal. "You two will be there to make sure I don't get myself into trouble; there'd be nothing to worry about."

John sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to touch Sam's legs that hid beneath the sheets. He licked his lips, gaze solely on his youngest. "Sam, what's this really all about? Why do you want to get drunk?" He wanted to add as an afterthought, "You're not even of age," but he knew Dean had been drinking long before he hit 21. It seemed unfair to not allow Sam to do the same.

John suppressed a sigh. While that was indeed the case, the two situations were…astronomically different.

Sam discreetly avoided their gazes, repositioning his legs to pull his knees to his chest, his arms hanging limply by his sides. "There were lots of times Larry would come back to the room drunk and, when he did, he just acted a lot…different."

"Sammy, I don't think that's a very good reason," Dean said immediately. "I see where you're going with this, and you shouldn't want to get drunk just to justify Larry's actions. Sammy, _I've _been drunk but I've _never _wanted to hurt someone like he hurt you. Larry did it because he was a sadistic bastard, not because he liked beer."

Sam's eyes twitched. "I, I know that."

"Then…what?" John prodded. "In what way was Larry different from usual?"

"…He was, uh…" Sam stopped, and a light shade of pink tinted his cheeks. "Hornier."

Dean looked at him with squinted eyes. "So you're telling me you want to get drunk so you can get horny?"

Sam rolled his eyes, ignoring the twinge of hurt that had emerged from Dean's comment. Did Dean really think that little of him?

"Come on, Dean…you know me better than that." He looked down, playing with the sheets spread across his legs. "I just…I just feel like because he was _hornier _he didn't have such heavy burdens on his shoulders, like he forgot all about them."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Dean said, anger filling his voice. "Sam, are you sympathizing with that bastard because he had a lot of shit to deal with? _Seriously?"_

"_No, _Dean, that's _not_ what I'm saying at all." Sam huffed loudly. Before he could stop himself, he added, "Please stop making these baseless assumptions." It was starting to edge on Sam's nerves. "Larry was…sloppier, more careless, and, consequently, had a better time when we…" Sam barely stopped himself in time. "You know, so I feel like, if _I _got drunk, it'd help me forget all the bad things that happened to me, too." He shrugged, voice quieter. "Temporarily, at least."

The older men were eerily silent now, and Sam squirmed under the suddenly surprised, sympathizing eyes.

John swallowed loudly. They should've known better; Sam didn't want to get drunk to get horny, and he didn't want to get drunk just to be rebellious. He wanted to feel _normal_ again.

Dean licked his lips, scratching shamefully at his head. "I…I'm sorry, I, uh, hadn't considered…that." He hung his head in shame.

"It's okay, really." Sam shrugged, head also low. "I didn't articulate myself very well, so…" He let the rest go unsaid, and John placed a comforting hand on his bent knee, squeezing lightly.

"I think we could get you something, Sammy."

Sam allowed a small smile. "Thank you."

XxXxXxXxXxX

True to his word, John had driven over to a nearby supermarket to purchase a six-pack. Both he and Dean had nearly instantaneously agreed going to a bar was completely out of the question and, with all three of them alone in their little motel room, the elder Winchesters were significantly less nervous about Sam's safety.

Albeit, that's not to say Sam was completely off Death's door.

Sam abruptly dipped forward in his seat on the couch, nearly falling to the floor if it hadn't been for Dean's strong arms keeping him upright.

"Holy fucckkk," he slurred, clutching at his head.

It was barely noon and Sam was sitting beside a mere three empty beer cans, drunk off his ass.

"Whoa there, tiger," Dean said, easing Sam back onto the cushion.

"N-No, I wa-wanna," he hiccupped, "e-explore."

John chuckled heartily from where he sat at the table, watching as Sam stood on unsteady, wobbly legs. "Careful there, Sammy; you don't want to fall."

Sam put one foot in front of the other, shooting his father a glare. "O-Obvi-iousl-ly."

Sam took another step, tripping on the empty space at his foot. Dean's arm shot out and wrapped around his thin waist, just in time before he became airborne.

Dean laughed as he pulled Sam back onto his feet, holding his shoulders before certain the boy could stand on his own.

"Uhhh," Sam stayed standing, not making another attempt to walk. Hiccupping, he giggled, smacking a hand over his mouth.

Dean swallowed, his throat dry. Despite the intoxicated Sam's both humorous and extremely adorable antics, his stomach was rumbling with anxiety. How was this for Sam? Did it relieve some of his pain, some of his _burden?_

The questions in his head were overpowering, and he let a question slip. "So Sammy, how you feeling?" He eyed his brother carefully. "Doing okay?"

"I f-feel real-ly, uhhh." Sam stumbled again, this time catching himself on an armchair. His head was spinning, he couldn't think straight, and the entire room was a blur. "I ne-ne-need to s-sit down."

At his side, Dean took most of Sam's weight and carried him, sitting him in a chair beside John. Dean knelt in front of him, a hand on Sam's knee.

Sam hiccupped again, and he had a slightly miserable expression on his face. "I do-don't like th-this."

Dean slumped. He'd been hoping Sam would find the temporary reprieve he'd been hoping for. He allowed a small, partly genuinely laugh to pass his lips though, Sam's usually artful speech atypically slurred and messy.

"What do you not like about it?" He asked as Sam rested his head on his palm.

"Uhhh…" Sam began. "Well, I s-see a-a-at lea-ast th-three-ee Dean's at the mo-moment and th-they ea-each have…" Sam's eyes were following an erratic pattern on Dean's face, and he could only guess at what the kid saw. "Tw-twelve eyes."

Dean snorted with a grin. "Well, that's a new record." He stood and grabbed a nearby chair, flipping it around and sitting on it backwards. "Anything else you don't like?"

Sam's lips were puckered in a grimace. "Y-yeah. I…" He let some of his hair fall into his eyes, the one characteristic thing he's done while drunk. "I j-just fe-feel ki-kinda…vuln…vulner…" Sam pouted, scrunching his nose as his tongue failed him.

"Vulnerable?" John aided.

"Y-Yeah, th-that's the o-one."

Dean nodded with a sad expression. "Alcohol can do that to you, kid. Thankfully, you're only home, so there's no harm in it, but…" Without his consent, his mind filled with images of an exposed, drunken Sam, defenseless at a party, and all the vile things that could come of it. Dean shook his head, ridding himself of the thoughts. "You don't know what kind of people would take advantage of that kind of weakness."

Sam looked at him with a tilt in his head, his face almost appearing sober. "I don't?"

Dean caught the mistake he'd made, feeling suddenly queasy. "Well…" he said in a small voice, "I may be mistaken on that part."

John also looked particularly despondent at that, head facing down at the table.

Any sobriety that had emerged on Sam's face vanished, and he sat up straighter in his chair.

"However," Sam began, holding up a finger as he referred back to a previous conversation. "On the b-bright side, _de-despite _my un-unfort-tunate-te in-intox-cation, I do _n-not _feel the urge to-to," he hiccupped, "h-have ho-horny s-sex with bo-boys."

Dean cringed, and he suddenly needed to reach out to Sam, feel him by his side, remind himself he was _here._

He patted Sam's knee, squeezing. "Yeah, Sammy, that's definitely a good thing."

Sam nodded vigorously, obviously in agreement.

Despite his excitement, he was beginning to demonstrate signs of sluggishness, and he rested his head on the table, sighing loudly. "Be-being dr-runk is re-re-real-ly t-t-ti..." Sam grunted.

"Tiring?"

"_Yes."_

John chuckled, running a hand through Sam's hair. "So it's safe to assume you won't be doing this again anytime in the near future?"

Sam's finger went up again, head still resting. "Y-you, my-my go-ood man, a-are co-correct."

Sam's hand came back down, instead scratching absently at his stomach and chest.

Dean winced. "Shirt starting to feel itchy?"

Sam groaned in complaint. "Fu-Fuck y-yes." He stopped scratching, instead holding out a limp arm to Dean.

Quickly reading his intent, Dean grabbed the hem of his shirt and slipped it smoothly off his torso, pulling the holes out of his head and arms.

Shirt removed, Sam's head fell instantly back on the table, eyes shut. He sighed in contentment. "M-much be-bett-tter."

"Glad to hear baby brother," Dean said. A few moments later and a light snore was heard, and Dean had to cover his mouth to stifle a laugh. John did the same, his grin wide and happy.

John stood. "Guess we gotta get him in bed."

Dean nodded, easily positioning Sam into his arms, letting the boy's head rest in the nape of his neck. He barely contained another chuckle, smirking at John. "We should've taken pictures."

John could only laugh.

XxXxXxXxXxX

**Next Morning**

"I think I'm dying, for real this time."

Sam knelt directly over the toilet, having just finished another bout of vomiting. His voice was still shaky, his expression appearing groggy and pained.

"Like you were the past four times you said that?" Dean asked with a smile, a large hand rubbing circles into Sam's back.

"Those were false alarms; this one is genuine. Call the police."

Dean grimaced sympathetically. He'd had his own experience of hangovers here and there. He knew the pain. "Sorry, Sammy, no can do. Once the meds kick in, it'll be more bearable. Just be patient."

Sam groaned, finally confident enough to lean back, resting against the wall opposite the toilet. John was watching sympathetically from the entrance, leaning against the doorframe with his hands in his pocket.

Dean grinned, knocking his knuckles against Sam's limp ones. "So, do you remember anything from last night."

Sam looked pensive, taking it under consideration. His eyebrows drew downward, and he looked to Dean. "Aside from the fact I actually started getting drunk in the _daytime, _yet slept all night?_"_

Dean snickered. "Yeah, you're a real lightweight."

Sam groaned, probably both from embarrassment and the constant gunfire going off in his head. After a moment, his face went back to looking pensive. Another moment later, and he shook his head, shrugging. "Sorry, I really don't remember anything. Was I that bad?"

Dean sniggered, ruffling Sam's hair. "You were hilarious, dude. Couldn't put one foot in front of the other to save your ass."

Sam flushed, hiding behind his long bangs in embarrassment. "I'm definitely never doing that again," he muttered.

Dean smiled lightly then, sympathetic, and he glanced at John to see he held the same expression.

John stepped foot into the small bedroom, kneeling in front of Sam's seated figure. "You know, Sammy…we realize that getting you drunk didn't accomplish what we wanted it to, but…" Sam was watching John with a curious, powerful gaze. "If there's ever anything else we can do to make you feel more comfortable in your own skin, just tell us. We…we just want you well again, Sammy." John's gaze was desperate, imploring Sam with his uncharacteristically kind and heartfelt words.

Dean nodded vigorously in agreement, and Sam offered a small smile, nodding. "I, I will." His smile grew as he considered both John and Dean's words. "Th-Than…" He paused, his eyes meeting both elder Winchesters' intense, determined gazes. They would go to the ends of the Earth for him. They were willing to bleed and die for him just to keep him happy. It almost made Sam forget that people like Larry and Joe even existed. When Sam had a family like this, what else could he really want?

A tear fell from Sam's eye. "Thank you."

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX**


End file.
